


Hatshipping Vol. II

by Draconicmaw



Series: Hatshipping [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hold onto your butts! It's time for a wild ride, M/M, Multi, Other, no beta we go to the shadow realm like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw
Summary: I TOLD YOU I WASN'T DONE. More Hatshipping fun! Pairings and characters will be added as we go! [Requests Open]
Relationships: Dinosaur Ryuuzaki | Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuuzaki | Rex Raptor, Ishizu Ishtar/Mutou Yuugi/Kujaku Mai | Mai Valentine, Kajiki Ryouta | Mako Tsunami/Otogi Ryuuji | Duke Devlin, Mutou Yuugi/Rebecca Hopkins | Rebecca Hawkins/Mahaado | Mahad, Otogi Ryuuji | Duke Devlin/Ghost Kotsuzuka | Bonz, Zigfried von Schroeder/Mana
Series: Hatshipping [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600186
Comments: 46
Kudos: 11
Collections: LemonLewd's Lewds





	1. The Beginning... Again

**It Begins Again**

Draconicmaw somersaults onto the scene (simply because she can’t do it in real life so why not write herself doing it). “Hey there!” She stands, arms akimbo. “If you’re here, I’m going to guess you’re familiar with Hatshipping Volume I. If not, here is the list of rules:

  1. “Hat-kami is the name of the hat. I have bits of paper folded up, and all these bits of paper have Yu-Gi-Oh! Character names written on them. I take two papers out, read the names, and _bam_ , we got ourselves pairing.
  2. “It’s all up to chance. Or Hat-kami. Whatever you think is funnier. Same thing, really. Some of these pairings are pretty cracky. Some are not. It’s hard to get _really_ cracky pairings, simply because this fandom is not afraid to pair everyone with everyone else.
  3. “Please let me know if my ship names are wrong, or if there is already a ship name for a pairing that I thought I had to name myself.
  4. “You, as the reader, may request ONE CHARACTER in a chapter. Hat-kami will decide the rest. Note, if you request TWO CHARACTERS, Hat-kami and I will pick a third person to slap on. I will do a maximum of three characters in a ship.
  5. “It is inevitable that there will be an overwhelming amount of guy-on-guy ships. The males far outweigh the females in this fandom. That being said, I may also genderbend from time to time. I know that that is a little taboo in this fandom (at least on some hemispheres of ffn, it is), but I really don’t give a crap about our societal norms.
  6. “No weird incest stuff. I’m not into writing that crap, reading that crap, none of that crap.
  7. “Some characters have not been added into the hat yet. I will add them if they are requested, or when I feel like I am ready to write that character.
  8. “There is the distinct possibility that characters may be removed from the hat. Such as Arkana/Pandora. He was in there. I thought it would be funny. But then I realized that I actually don’t want to write him. At all. But he was present for one pairing in the first volume.
  9. “The rating of this collection might go up. I am not afraid to slap some lemons and limes in here. _I am that insane. You may get to see some crazy shit._
  10. “These will vary in length between short-shorts (drabbles) to mid-length to long oneshots. As far as I am concerned, there will not be sequels unless Hat-kami repeats a pairing or if one is requested. Also, these stories are unconnected unless otherwise stated in the stories themselves.
  11. “Most oneshots will be by request now. I am going to put a little more focus on my other on-going stories, but don’t let that deter you from requesting a character! I will hop right on it as soon as you send it.”



Draconicmaw adjusts her glasses. “I think that’s all I have to say so far.” She tips her head.

“Oh! More request rules/info: 1) you get one redraw if you don’t like the character Hat-kami selected, 2) you can  _ vaguely _ pick the plot and content of the oneshot, 3) you can request the same character over and over, if you want. Just know that I will probably insert a oneshot between your requests to break it up a bit.”

“On to the stories!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is written in a narrative format because chapters dedicated solely to author’s notes are forbidden on FFN. So, I do this as a clever work-around.
> 
> Next Up: Rexshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki)


	2. Rexshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Rexshipping (Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki x Rex Raptor/Dinosaur Ryuzaki)
> 
> Okay, so someone requested a smutty oneshot with our good ole pal Rex here. Okay, no problem. I go to draw a name from the hat… IT’S REX RAPTOR. I put it back, shuffle it all up, have my friend draw a name from the hat… IT’S REX RAPTOR. Hat-kami has made his will known!
> 
> This could’ve gone so many ways -- like he finds a clone, he finds another version of himself from another dimension, etc. But I really didn’t want to stray too close to something that resembled twincest, because I don’t want to touch that door with a ten foot pole. Or a longer pole, for that matter. 
> 
> So instead I’m experimenting with this. I feel like all parties involved will get pretty uncomfortable, but, hey. Let’s try this out. I guess. Or something. Feel free to not read this at all.

**Loving Yourself (aka Rex’s Journey of Self-Discovery)**

The novelty of sex wore off pretty quickly. Which surprised Rex, on so many levels. He’d personally felt that he was a fairly sexual person, ever since puberty, really. He liked indulgence, liked pleasure. When he was a teenager, the number of nights he spent masturbating until he was dizzy were innumerable. 

The first couple of times he got intimate with his first serious girlfriend were pretty amazing. He wanted to be touched, wanted  _ to _ touch, and his girlfriend at the time was pretty hot, too. He’d thought he’d want more. All of his guy friends were  _ obsessed _ with sex; they wanted whatever they could get, whenever they could get it.

But after a couple of months of having sex with his girlfriend, Rex just didn’t feel the same way. It was dull, boring. It felt like, even after some time, that she had no idea what she was doing. Rex  _ knew _ what made him feel good, had memorized and mastered all of the sensitive parts of his body, and she seemed to have no clue, even when he would show and tell her what to do.

_ She _ seemed to enjoy herself. Which was honestly annoying. It made him a little spiteful because  _ why _ was she having so much fun when he would rather be doing literally anything else?

They eventually broke up because Rex had lost any and all interest in having sex with her, and it had resulted in an altogether sour relationship.

Whatever, fine. It didn’t break his heart any. And maybe that girl would find someone who really enjoyed being intimate with her. She certainly deserved it. She was good person and just deserved the best in life. 

(Rex often kept it a secret, but he felt this way about a lot of people in his life.)

Okay, so she didn’t quite do it for him. But he wasn’t too worried. He’d find a girl he could really get it on with and it would be awesome. So he enjoyed the bachelor life again for a couple more months, and felt a hell of a lot less guilty when he masturbated (feeling guilty about masturbation  _ at all _ was fucking awful and he never wanted to feel it again).

But the next girlfriend came and went, and the next one, and the next one, and it all turned out the same way, but he kept trying because he was fixated on the idea that out there somewhere there just  _ had _ to be a sexually compatible girl for him. It wasn’t until his fourth year of college that he completely gave that up. He didn’t even find women all that attractive anymore -- it was like a safety mechanism to keep him from getting his damn hopes up.

So Rex decided to experiment with the same gender.

And,  _ whew _ , was his first homosexual experience actually fucking  _ hot _ . Guys, generally, knew exactly what other guys liked, and dear god, nobody would ever beat that one ginger boy at that one party that had gone down on him. 

He even had a handful of steady boyfriends. Which was  _ way _ different than dating women. 

But… it was short-lived.

The novelty of  _ gay sex _ faded away -- and Rex  _ never  _ thought he’d ever utter or think such a thing; when he was younger, he would’ve punched someone out if they ever told him he’d end up having sex with a dude (he was so glad he got over that internalized homophobia -- it was a nasty feeling, and with acceptance came a sort of peace that he loved). But it happened -- it just wasn’t exciting anymore, just a lot of body parts moving quickly and then various sore spots later on. 

_ Okay…? _ What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Women didn’t do it for him.  _ Men _ didn’t do it for him. He’d long given up on finding that perfect sexual ‘soulmate.’ He couldn’t even summon up the enthusiasm to find anyone  _ attractive anymore _ . Which was a little sad, but, hey. Whatever. 

_ Whatever _ . Maybe he didn’t really need sex, maybe he was like… a monk or something…?

_ Which he found out was very wrong. _

So very, very wrong. 

Rex’s libido never left him. 

But, Rex could readily admit that his relationship with sexual pleasure and intimacy was probably vastly different than what most people experienced.

But it worked out. It worked out  _ great _ .

* * *

Rex loved nighttime. He loved it when the sky got all dark and the stars came out, and he adored it when darkness hung about the furniture in his home. He liked the difference between the warm, low light and those shadows. He loved candles,  _ was mesmerized _ by how the light and the shadows danced together. 

He liked what it did to his skin tone. He liked how the shadows fell over his skin and highlighted the bone and the muscles beneath.

He sat on the toilet seat lid, foot propped up on the edge of the bathtub. His leg looked so damn  _ smooth _ in the warm light from the candles sitting on the bathroom counter. The act of shaving his legs was so tiresome and  _ weird  _ (like, he was a guy and it was supposed to be a deviation from the norm for a guy to shave his legs), but the results always left him breathless.

He bit his lip, grabbed the lotion off the counter, and blew out the candles on his way out. 

Several candles were already lit in the bedroom. They cast everything in warm, dim, inviting relief. He stepped across the carpet and crawled slowly onto the bed. The blankets brushed silkily over his bare legs, and he shivered. He propped his foot on the footboard, his red T-Rex bathrobe drooping over his thigh, now bared to the faint orange glow of the candles. 

The cap of the lotion should have seemed loud in the quiet of his bedroom, but Rex was so focused on warming the lotion between his hands, and the way his toes look curled slightly over the edge of the footboard. He finally bent to set his hands on his ankle, and the slipped right up, over his shin and calves, and his slowly massaged it in, feeling the muscle and bone beneath his hands, felt his  _ hands _ , kneading and rubbing. His legs were so soft.

Lips parting, he worked his way up, to his knee, rubbed it all in until there was nothing but softness left behind. He moved to his other leg. Warmth coiled low in his stomach, but he continued, enjoying the moment, relishing how he was pampering himself. 

He hummed, traced his fingertips down and up, ghosting along the smooth, lotioned skin on each calf. Heart rate kicking up just a little, he laid back, feet still propped up on the footboard. 

His breath caught in his throat, but he avoided looking at the ceiling for that moment in time. 

He nudged the hem of the bathrobe off his thighs with his fingertips. He applied more lotion to his palms -- squeezing a little  _ too _ much out in his excitement, but, oh well, he’ll make use of it eventually -- and warmed it with slow enthusiasm.

He set his trembling hands to his knees and they skated  _ down _ , along his thighs, towards the seam of hip and leg, but he stopped short, rubbed slowly up, kneaded the meat of his thighs with slow, sensual intent. It felt  _ good _ , so good. A soft noise uncurled from low in his throat, and he brushed his thumbs teasingly down the inside of his thighs. His skin was smooth and hot, and getting hotter with each pass of his hands. He blinked slowly and finally let himself look to the ceiling.

Maybe Rex Raptor was a kinky bastard, but he couldn’t care, not when his heart palpitated and his breath caught when he saw his own eyes staring back at him from the mirror mounted on the ceiling. 

He  _ loved _ how he looked when he was like this -- Even in the dim light, the flush pinkening his cheeks and crawling down his neck was visible. His lips were parted, glistening from where he had flicked his tongue across them. His hair -- still damp, laid spread out in a disheveled fan around him. His eyes were already so  _ needy _ , and he’d hardly done anything yet.

With bated, hitching breaths, he watched his hands smooth up his thighs, to his hips, nudging more of the robe aside until the belt was just loosely holding it to him and he was bared to the warm air. His breath bubbled up fast and hot in his throat. But he ignored his building need, and instead massaged at his hips. The heat was building, slow and liquid but crackling, and with a whispered grunt he moved his slick hands further up. With the lotion still on his hands, it was hard to undo the belt to the robe, but he managed. He nudged the material off until it was only on his arms and he was laying on it. 

He looked in the mirror, studied heatedly how the warm light from the flickering candles played over his body. His palms slid up, along his abdomen and to his ribs and his pectoral muscles. Each touch was slick and heated, and he panted excitedly as he rubbed the lotion in. His nerves were alight, shuddering with each pass, and his head kicked back, digging into the mattress when he rolled a nipple between wet fingers.

“Oh god yes,” he moaned, choking, toes curling tighter against the footboard. 

And he  _ loved _ the way he sounded, loved being vocal, loved how his voice got husky and needy as he drove himself to the brink of insanity with unfulfilling touches. 

So he whimpered and mewled freely as he teased himself, slipping slick fingers over both nipples and watching his hips buck in the mirror. He admired how his muscles twitched beneath his skin, how tendons and bones became more prominent when he moved just so, how his flush grew darker when he would watch his hands as he played with himself. 

He was wet and leaking when he finally wrapped a slick hand around himself and started pumping, slowly. 

His cry echoed in the room and made him  _ ache _ . 

He watched himself, watched his hands and his face and his writhing, bucking body as he touched  _ right there, yes, there, oh god _ . It was so good, so hot, consuming him as he mewled and quivered on his bed. He met his eyes in the mirror as one hand raised back up to thumb his nipple, and his other hand was moving so fast now, so desperate, but he’d teased himself so long and now the pleasure was roaring up inside him. 

He watched his mouth gape wider with each sound he made -- “ahn, ahn, hn” -- watched a tear trek down his cheek, watched his slick fingers skate over his flesh over and over again, watched his reddened nipple peek from between his rolling fingers. And then he could only see white and black, strobing and hot, as that scorching wave surged over him and made his thighs tremble and jump and his hips stutter. He’d arched off the bed in a tight bow, head digging into the mattress and sweaty feet slipping on the footboard.

He crashed back down. He was still bucking and gasping, riding that high as he gazed heatedly up at the mirror that reflected the image of his glorious mess back down to him. 

Yes, Rex had a different relationship with sexual intimacy than most had, but he still enjoyed himself every step of the way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find human sexuality to be a fascinating subject, so I played this off of the concept of ‘autosexuality,’ where someone finds his/her own body to be sexually attractive or where they find masturbation to be more fulfilling than sexual intercourse with another person (depends on who you ask on how to define it).
> 
> Next Up: Compassionshipping (Mai Valentine/Kujaku x Yugi Mutou x Ishizu Ishtar)


	3. Compassionshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Compassionshipping (Mai x Yugi x Ishizu)
> 
> To the person who requested this, I am so very sorry it has taken me this long. That being said, I will just drop a note here and we’ll carry on our merry way. I have amassed a list of cliched tropes commonly used in fanfiction and other media, and I decided I would pick out one of those to write about. (Also, I had to make the ship name a couple months ago and I do not remember my reasoning for it, but I do not have the mental faculties to think of a new one right now. Again, if a name already exists, let me know, or if you have a better suggestion, I’m all ears!) Also, I was so, so stuck on this, so I wrote something short and sweet. Pre-established relationship because my brain absolutely could not come up with anything on how to get these three together.

Yugi was hyperfixating again. He worked efficiently, and he worked hard, too, and it meaned that he worked fast. Tasks completed, one after another, rolled together into a snowball of productivity with exponentially increasing momentum. At first glance, it  _ seemed  _ like a good thing -- things were getting done, a stack of files read and sorted and paperwork signed and reports reviewed. It really  _ was _ a good thing, until his work bled over into his personal life. And by the time it got that far, the snowball was already monstrous and crushing houses as it careened down the mountainside. 

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Ishizu reminded, pushing to him the bowl of rice.

“Ah, how’d you know?” he murmured, flipping through the file, eyebrows ticked down behind the frames of his lenses. 

Mai rolled her eyes, her chin in her hand and her elbow on the table. “I think we  _ all _ know how you get when you start on a new client.”

“I just missed lunch, that’s all,” Yugi replied. He tapped the end of his pen against his lips. “I feel fine.” He glanced up at them over the edges of his reading glasses. A smile, warm and genuine and  _ fond _ . “I’ll eat dinner after this page.”

Which Ishizu and Mai both knew was just  _ not true _ . He’d completely forget about dinner by the time he finished that page. And while they worried about him, they could never stay upset -- not with that heart-melting smile of his.

The bastard. Mai inhaled slowly through her nose. He just had to go and complicate things with his cuteness. 

Ishizu leaned forward, her bronze fingers gentle on the pen as she dislodged it from his grasp. “No, you’re going to eat dinner now, and  _ then _ you can finish this page.” She dragged the files away from him, and he only weakly pawed at them and pouted with a puppy-like whine. He pretended to glare at them over the edges of his reading glasses.  _ Pretended _ , key word there, since the corners of his lips were twitching up. Ishizu’s brow arched sharply.

He shook his head with a sweet huffing laugh. “ _ Fine _ , fine, I’ll eat.” He dragged the bowl closer, and his girlfriends were so focused on making sure he was actually eating that they ignored their own meals. He languidly gestured to them with his utensils. “C’mon, don’t be hypocrites. Eat your dinner.”

They ate dinner together.

* * *

The sun had long set. The last rays of light faded into red, to purple, to black, hours ago. But light glowed from within the apartment. Yugi was still plugging away, hunched over his work, blond bangs dangling down and pen grasped gently in his fingers. 

Ishizu’s hands curled over his shoulders. Her thumbs rolled into the tight muscle. His head sagged forward, and a hum curled from his throat. 

“Come to bed,” she whispered, low and gentle, soothing, and her voice was swinging tenderly like a lullabye. 

“I’ve still got some stuff to do,” Yugi murmured in reply, even as his lids drooped heavily over his hazy violet eyes.

“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” Ishizu replied. “I’m sure you’re ahead, already.”

A sleepy, noncommittal hum. 

Mai sighed, exasperated, tired and cranky and wanting to curl up in bed with her two lovers. Mai was a night owl, too, and even  _ she _ thought this was getting ridiculous. She stalked up to the table. “Okay, you’re getting your ass in bed, mister!” She plucked the pen from his grasp and snapped the folder closed. Yugi just barely got to pull his hands away in time. “I’m not playing these games tonight.” She pushed the file down the table, as it slid to a stop, just a few inches from the edge. “I’m tired, Ishizu’s tired,  _ you’re  _ tired, and we both want you in bed with us.”

Yugi was chuckling, but he readily stood from the chair. “I am very tired.”

Mai rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the wrist to drag him down the hall.

Ishizu shook her head, a sanguine smile on her lips. 

Well, that was one way to get it down.

She drifted down the hall, her hand dragging along the wall to the light switch.

The dining room light snapped off. Within ten minutes, the whole apartment was dark, and three shapes huddled beneath the blankets on the large bed.

“Love you…” Yugi slurred, already drifting off. Mai hummed, and Ishizu nudged back into him. 

Sleepy huffs in the dark of the bedroom. It was a restful night for all three. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, to the requester, I hope you enjoyed this! If you didn’t, tell me what I could do better next time, and don’t be afraid to request again!
> 
> Next Up: Magentashipping (Zigfried von Schroeder x Mana/Dark Magician Girl)


	4. Magentashipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Magentashipping (Zigfried Von Schroeder x Mana/Dark Magician Girl)
> 
> Magentashipping because of Zigfried’s hair and the pinkish accents on the Dark Magician Girl’s outfit. If there is already a ship name, or if you have a better one, please don’t be afraid to give me a holler! (Once again to the one who requested this, I am sorry it has taken this long!)
> 
> So, this started as something else, a different AU, but I realized the idea I had for that could not be contained in a oneshot. I might end up elucidating on that idea via a multi-chapter story, we’ll see, I guess. So, instead, here’s an AU where Mana is a surgeon at a hospital and Zigfried is admitted into the ER.

**An Apple A Day… Doesn’t Do Jack Shit When You Get Shot**

Shivering. He couldn’t stop shivering. He was so cold, and his whole body was trembling.

The voices came as if through static. Machines beeped and blared. 

“He’s going into shock!” 

“We need two units of A, stat!” 

He groaned, eyes rolling deliriously, tried moving his arms. 

A face loomed into view in the blazing white light. A white mask stained with blood, but her eyes gleamed. A valkyrie fresh from battle, here to carry him away to the glory of the afterlife.

“Sir, I need you to stop moving. We’re going to take care of you,” came her voice, the clearest of them all, cutting through like a divine sword. 

A valkyrie, caring for him? He had always known that whatever gods existed had him in their favor. 

He tried to speak to her, but only a pained groan tore from his throat. Suddenly he was aware of his pain. It was sharp and throbbing, total agony from deep within.

_Take me away, end this pain._

And he faded into the cold and the pain.

* * *

 _Beep. Beep. Beep_.

His right arm was cold, heavy. The cold slithered through his veins, like a sluggish reptile curling inside him to absorb his warmth. He shifted from a world of darkness to a world of bright white, then back again. Black, white, black, white.

“He’s waking up!” came a voice, so near and dear to him, he knew, but he could not place face or name to voice. “Zigfried!” A warm hand touched his cold arm. It was startlingly hot, the palm sweaty. He twitched.

The oscillation changed from white-to-black to black-to-hazel-and-maroon. He realized suddenly that he was blinking, slow and groggy. And the force of memory struck him, though his lips moved as if around lead. “Leon.” His entire body felt… dull, heavy. What… what was wrong with him. 

He could barely manage to get his fingers to twitch, and he looked down. From beneath a piece of medical tape, transparent tubing twined from the inside of his elbow. An IV was steadily dripping a medical cocktail into his veins. He licked his lips. They were bone dry, but, surprisingly, they didn’t ache.

“The hospital…?” he murmured, grateful when Leon tangled their fingers together.

Leon’s hazel eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them red and raw. He’d been crying, a lot, it seemed, Zigfried noted distantly. “D-Don’t you remember what happened?”

A huff of breath, and somehow it made his abdomen feel tight, but he ignored it for the sake of a faint smile. “I hardly remember my own name right now, Leon.”

“Y-You were shot,” Leon gurgled, a fresh sheen of tears glistening over his eyes. 

_Oh_. Oh. He… He sighed slowly, eyes falling closed again, head falling back. It felt like it took too much energy to try to remember. “I think I’m going to fall asleep again, Leon,” he murmured, and even _he_ could hear the distinct slur to his words. “Keep… Keep holding my hand.” He needed an anchor in that blackness. Even as he drifted off, he was frightened, though the feeling was muted. But if Leon held his hand, Leon could guide him back. 

Leon could always guide him back.

* * *

The next he woke, he was decidedly more coherent. Leon had fallen asleep in the chair beside Zigfried’s hospital bed, but their fingers were still tightly tangled together. Zigfried squeezed, weakly, though he still would have been gentle even if he had his strength. 

His body felt stiff from laying down in one position for so long, but he knew better than to stretch and shift. 

He remembered with haunting clarity the events leading up to his admission to a hospital. A disgruntled employee, the black metal of a gun glinting wickedly in the lights of Zigfried’s office, the sound that he could’ve sworn had shattered his eardrums, the _pain_.

There was no pain now, only a dull discomfort, no doubt because of the aid of powerful painkillers. But still, it made him wonder again, how on earth had that man made it through security to Zigfried’s office?

Questions burned within him, bright and frenzied with anger and panic. What had happened to the man that had wounded him? Had the police apprehended him? Had security killed him before the police even arrived? The questions lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. Leon needed rest, too. He’d probably been awake worrying for his big brother the entire time. 

Zigfried sighed and laid his head back. His mouth was dry, but he wasn’t thirsty. The saline solution in his medical cocktail was undoubtedly keeping him hydrated. (And it was probable that the cocktail itself was what was giving him a dry mouth, too.)

A light, gentle knock on the door had him lifting his head again. The door cracked open, and a woman ducked her head in. 

Thick brown hair was tamed back into a ponytail. Bits and pieces still fell down to frame her richly tanned face. But it was her eyes, their bluish-hazel hue and their lively _gleam_ , that caught Zigfried’s attention.

Hazy images teased the edges of his mind, but they were too blurred to make out.

All he knew was that this woman was _familiar_. 

She smiled brightly at him. “Hello, Mister von Schroeder. It’s good to see that you’re awake.” She was quiet enough not to stir Leon, but just loud enough for Zigfried to hear her clearly.

 _“We’re going to take care of you”_ an echo of her voice whispered into his head.

“Are… are you my doctor?” he asked, and his voice was still hoarse from sleep.

She stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind her. Sure enough, she wore a pristine white labcoat -- it seemed a tad too big around her shoulders for her, and it hung a bit over her wrists -- and blue scrubs beneath. She waved a hand around in the air. “Yes, but also no.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

She smiled, sheepish but mischievous at the same time. “I’m not the doctor assigned to looking after your recovery, but I was one of the ER surgeons present when you were admitted.”

_A face loomed into view in the blazing white light. A white mask stained with blood, but her eyes gleamed. A valkyrie fresh from battle, here to carry him away._

His cheeks heated. The ramblings of his blood-deprived mind were… quite something.

Another energetic wave of her hand. Her hands her small, delicate things, with finely-boned fingers and gently defined knuckles. They were hands designed for intricate tasks, like plucking harp strings or handling scalpels. Perhaps not the hands of a warrior goddess, but respectable hands nonetheless. 

“Well, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. You took quite the hit, with the nick to the diaphragm and the intestinal damage and all that. We had to give you a blood transfusion, too, but there was no damage that we couldn’t fix,” and she ended the statement with a cheeky wink. “Anyway, I’ll be on my way, before Doctor Ishtar comes to reprimand me for,” her face affected a dramatically stern expression, and her voice a stuffy, pedagogical tone, “‘harassing her patients.’” And then she was turning toward the door, her delicate bronzed hand resting on the handle.

“Wait,” Zigfried croaked out, before his brain even realized that he wanted to speak. When she looked at him over her shoulder, he came to the stunning conclusion that he actually had no idea what he wanted to say, anyways. He mouthed silently for a moment, growing incredibly frustrated with himself by the second, though she was waiting patiently for him to speak, and he finally managed a “What’s your name?”

The smile that cracked across her face was bright and warm even in the cold white of the fluorescent lights. “Well, since I’m not your doctor anymore, you just can call me Mana.” She wiggled her fingers at him in farewell. “I’m sure I’ll catch you around, Mister von Schroeder.” She slipped through the door and closed it gently behind her.

Though she was gone, the room seemed so much warmer, so much brighter. 

Perhaps not a valkyrie to carry him away to the afterlife, but something else…

A guardian angel that kept him alive.

He knew he just saw the face of the woman who had saved his life.

* * *

“Mana, were you harassing my patients again?” Ishizu asked, green eyes staring sternly over the edges of her glasses. 

Mana laughed. “ _Patient_ , singular, and no, I was not _harassing_ him. I was barely in there for two minutes!” She tucked her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. “C’mon, I had my hands rooting around inside him for a stray bullet -- the least I could do is drop by and say hello!”

“Don’t make it sound like you owe him something,” Ishizu replied, and she was shaking her head, though a gentle smile was flirting with the edges of her lips. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

Mana leaned her forearms on the edge of the counter. “Nope, he owes me nothing.” She rolled her shoulders. “I was just doing my job.”

“Yes, because you’re just ‘doing your job,’ even though you care enough about patients you’ve never even spoken to that you drop by their rooms in the ICU just to say hello.” Ishizu tapped her younger colleague on the top of her head with a clipboard. “Be gone from here. Go take an actual break on your break for once.”

Mana ducked under the clipboard before it could bop her again, and she trotted down the hall, and she stuck her tongue out at Ishizu as she went. “Yeah, okay, okay, _mom_ , I’ll be sure to do that.”

Ishizu shook her head and turned her attention back to her clipboard. “That girl, I swear…” How had Mahad handled mentoring her for so long?

One of the great mysteries of the universe.

* * *

They were finally letting him eat and drink, and though the hospital meals were by no means the luxurious fare he was accustomed to, they were a welcome addition to his hollow stomach. 

Some part of him twisted with displeasure -- Leon had told him that the bastard that put a bullet in his abdomen was dead. Not shot by security. Not shot by police.

He killed himself. Right there in Zigfried’s office. He must’ve thought that Zigfried was as good as dead after he’d shot him and took himself out.

Zigfried poked at his food with his fork, a thoughtful frown on his face. 

No justice, no jailtime, no making the man suffer with a lifetime of misery inside and outside of prison. The only way he could spite the fucker was by staying alive and well. 

So, despite his lack of appetite, he took another bite of food. Eating would help him regain his strength, anyways. 

His nurse was quietly shuffling around with the machines he was hooked up to and jotting things onto a clipboard. He mostly stayed out of her way, and she out of his. 

Leon was gone -- back to his relatively normal day-to-day schedule, as Zigfried had demanded of him. He had no other visitors aside from Leon and that surgeon, Mana, and it made his days quiet. The television had but a few channels, and most of the shows on those channels were insipid soap operas. When he wasn’t working on the paperwork Leon had brought him, he was reading quietly, the blinds drawn back from the windows to let in the natural summer light from outside. 

He’d been moved out of the ICU the day prior, but it seemed Doctor Ishtar was still concerned with the damage the bullet had done to his intestines, so he would remain in the hospital for observation for a few more days. 

He sighed, a little tight and a bit achy -- with a smaller dose of pain-killers, the discomfort of his wound was more obvious -- and _by all the Norse gods, it itched like no other_. He pushed the mostly-finished food away and let himself recline back more. Though the medication still made him just as tired. Or maybe that was the wound. Either way, he was exhausted without end these days.

A light knocking at the door had him suddenly sitting up straighter, and the nurse looked up from her tasks as the door cracked open. 

Bright eyes and a brighter smile peeked in. Mana. “Hey there, _Zigfried_ ,” and it was all sing-song, teasing and lilting, the same way she’d said it when Zigfried had requested, _not the least bit flustered_ , that she not call him ‘Mister von Schroeder’ anymore.

(And she’d tilted her head, ponytail falling over her shoulder and asked, ‘But isn’t it your name?’ But he’d had no response, because despite all his acumen and eloquency with language, he somehow could not verbally express how the title made her sound like a giggly, mischievous schoolgirl when she uttered it, and the perverse response that burned in his chest each time disturbed him to no end. Thinking indecent things was not a habit of his, and he wanted to stop it in its tracks before it became one.)

He inclined his head in greeting.

“Oh, Doctor Alzalam,” the nurse greeted, blinking at their uninvited -- but not unwelcome -- visitor.

Mana beamed. “Ah, I’m off duty today. It’s just Mana.” She stepped in, and Zigfried had to blink multiple times.

It was the first time he’d ever seen her out of scrubs and a labcoat -- an airy cerulean scoop-neck blouse, strapped down with a magenta belt just below her breasts, and similarly magenta shorts peeked out from around the hem that dangled down to her mid-thigh. She was clearly dressed for the balmy summer weather, though her hair, brown and thick and wild, was free from what had seemed to be a perpetual updo. It tumbled down her shoulders and along the bare skin of her bronzed collarbones. 

She practically _bounced_ her way farther into the room. Her legs were long and toned and such a rich brown.

_She was gorgeous._

From head to toe.

“You’re…” he gulped thickly. “You’re not working today?”

“Nope! First full day off in a while!” She giggled and dragged a chair up to his bedside. 

“But… you’re here…?” he said, slowly, trying not to stare too intensely at her. It hurt his eyes -- it was almost like staring directly into the sun.

“Yup! Thought I would visit you, anyways. I know on Wednesdays Leon doesn’t have much time to visit you.” She plucked a piece of food off his plate and popped it into her mouth. “You get grumpy when you get lonely.” She winked. 

He hummed in response, watching as her hand crawled across to the tray and onto his plate again.

“Sorry,” she giggled, sheepish. “I haven’t had lunch yet. I should probably let you eat, though.” He managed to look at her once more. She was beaming at him again. “You need your energy, after all.”

“I’m done,” he murmured. “You can have it.” He pushed the tray toward her.

“Oh!” She picked up the fork. “Thank you.” 

He hummed again. 

“You know, I thought you would eventually move to a hospital more suited to your… tastes,” she said, thoughtful but not unkind. “I mean, we definitely don’t have the luxuries that you would expect of a hospital that’s more of your… financial caliber.” She quickly chewed a small piece of food. “No offense, or anything. Just genuinely curious.”

She had a point. Zigfried loved living in the lap of luxury… five star meals, the most expensive of hotels, beds, _care_. He was sure the decor in one of his living rooms costed more than his whole stay at this hospital. But something had kept him here when he could have transferred to a place more suited to his tastes.

He breathed out slowly and met her eyes, and he was immediately mesmerized, once again, by the blue and brown strands that twined together in her irises. “The… doctors here are very talented. Why transfer when I trust the doctors here?”

“That’s a good point,” she replied, finishing off the last morsels. She lightly tapped handle of the fork on the edge of the plate. “Y’know, by the next time I have a day off, you’ll already be discharged. How am I going to visit you then?” She said with a smile, almost shy, with the tines of the fork resting on the right side of her bottom lip.

His breath caught in his throat, and he managed a small smile in return. “Anytime you want to visit me, Mana, I’ll be sure to make time for you in my schedule.”

“Awwwwww!”

They both nearly jumped out of their skins.

They forgot the nurse was still there!

Zigfried hid his blazing red face behind a shaking hand.

Mana laughed.

Despite being stuck in the hospital, it was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, requester, I hope you enjoyed this! It’s confirmed -- my original idea for this oneshot is being written into a full-length story! (One I plan on finishing before I begin posting it XD), so if anyone is interested, I’ll be sure to mention it in another author’s note when I begin posting it ^-^ One thing I’ll say now -- it’s a fantasy AU!
> 
> Next up: Mistshipping (Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki x Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi)


	5. Mistshipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Mistshipping (Mako Tsunami/Ryouta Kajiki x Duke Devlin/Ryuuji Otogi)
> 
> Lo and behold, the Castaway AU that absolutely nobody asked for! Also, I’m using Duke’s English name but Mako’s Japanese name. Also also, studies show that talking to yourself when isolated from other human beings is good for your mental health. In other words, I'm not crazy: I'm well-adjusted.

**Stranded**

The waves roared and crashed, over and around him. They burned in his lungs. He struggled to keep his head above. The water was strangely warm, but still his fingers shook where they were wrapping around a piece of debris. It was his only hope. The night was dark and the sea rough, but still above him stars twinkled. He choked on more brine, blinked it out of his stinging eyes. He wanted to yell, call for anyone else who may have survived. But his throat was sore, and he couldn’t speak around the sea water he was absolutely refusing to swallow.

He could survive being adrift at sea as long as he didn’t drink the damn water.

The sea was warm, but Duke was stone cold with fear.

He wasn’t so sure he would survive at all.

* * *

He stepped along the shore. His bare feet pressed into the wet sand. The bottom edge of the sun had just cleared the horizon. It would only be a few hours before it would shine bright and hot, but the sea breeze always kept the air from being sweltering. He hummed, relaxed as the waves lapped at his ankles. He stooped down to inspect some debris that had washed up onto the shore.

It was always worth it to check what washed up after windy nights.

Hm. Metal siding. To a plane, or perhaps a boat. He dragged the piece further away from the water, so it wouldn’t get washed away by the high tides. He’d come back to get it later. 

He continued ambling down the beach. He could hear bird chatter, the huge flocks of seabirds that nested on the cliffs on the west side of the island. Several species used this island for nesting each year, and different birds nested for different seasons. If he was stealthy enough to steal eggs or birds, it meant a guaranteed supply of meals year-round (though he felt guilty for taking helpless eggs and brooding parents, his hunger always overpowered his morals). 

The reefs just off the shore were filled with fish, bright and plump from the bounty of warm tropical waters. The forest was filled with snakes and lizards, even boars, sizeable enough to feed him but posing no threat (except for perhaps the boars). The palms lining the beach produced fruit throughout the year. 

He supposed, with irony whose bitterness long since eroded in the sands of time, that he was fortunate in his bad luck. 

After he adjusted to his life of isolation, he never once went hungry. 

Hungry for food, that was. 

Because he hungered for human contact every day. 

Six years, all alone.

Six years, talking to himself to stave off that gnawing loneliness.

Six years, wondering what happened to his father. Did he die in that storm?

He shook his head slowly. There was no use wondering, now.

There was nothing he could ever do about it. Nothing he could do to learn the fate of his father. He learned long ago that there was no leaving this paradise that had become his prison. Boats crafted carefully from scraps and resources, failed launches, scrapes and cuts on coral and rocks. Nearly drowning in the wrathful whitecaps that suddenly appeared as if in response to his attempts at escape. 

Perhaps it was his father’s superstitions growing up that were whispering in his ears, but the creeping dread that lingered in his veins told him that this island wanted to keep him here, that the ocean wanted to keep him here.

And it was selfish of him to wish for it -- that the ocean would be so merciful to at least deliver to him a companion, someone that he could _talk_ to, instead of his own voice echoing in his ears as he tried to babble away the insanity that threatened to cloud his mind.

Perhaps he was already insane. Perhaps he’d lost any hope of remaining _human_ a long time ago. 

Perhaps there was no point to staying sane when he would be by himself until he took his last breath. 

He kicked a pebble, watched it splash into an oncoming wave. The hissing roar of water folding in on itself, the sibilant whisper as it clawed onto the sand and lapped at his ankles again, over and over as he walked. 

He turned his eyes back forward, and squinted at what he saw on the beach. A tangle of inky black rested on the tawny sand. It was surrounded by debris -- another piece of some sort of vehicle, be it plane or boat, he still wasn’t sure -- and what looked to be (from this distance) scraps of fabric. 

He frowned. It would honestly be a first if clothing washed up on the shore. 

He approached faster, careful to watch his step lest he trip on the wet sand and twist his ankle (again). Yes, crash debris, fabric, and… and…

_Hair?!_

Those clothes were _on somebody_!

“Holy shit,” he breathed, breaking into a run.

 _There was a person on the beach_.

His feet slapped loudly on the sand, and he vaulted himself over a piece of driftwood. He skidded over the wet beach to a stop just before the debris.

He stood, stunned and panting, staring down at the figure washed up on the shore of his island. 

Lithe and lean but masculine, clothes sopping with the water still washing up around his legs and matted with sand. That inky hair seemed endlessly long with how it was tangled up about the head and partially obscuring the man’s face. 

A bird cried overhead, and Ryouta startled in place. “What am I doing?” he hissed to himself before rushing to the stranger’s side. He gently lifted the other man, put his ear to his chest. 

He was still breathing!

Ryouta sighed with relief. He checked the stranger for any visible wounds -- broken limbs, lesions, bruises, but it seemed he fared with mild injuries. Scrapes from some unknown accident, or perhaps from the rocks and coral when he drifted past the reef to come on shore. He pushed the wet, muddy tangle of abyssal black away from the man’s face to check there, too, and he nearly dropped the unconscious man with a gasp.

A fine, nearly _pretty_ \-- no, not _nearly_ , a _definitely_ pretty face peered back, and Ryouta’s mouth immediately went dry. Clear, sculpted planes, high cheekbones and faintly pink shapely lips.

An _angel_ had washed up on his island!

He touched gently that cheek, brushed away the salt and the sand that coated it in a fine crust. His hand looked so big and meaty and _dark_ on this man’s pale, elegant face. His own cheeks blazed in response, and he quickly pulled his hand away.

But just because this was the first time he had seen another human being in six years didn’t mean that Ryouta had any right to touch him. With that in mind, he carefully scooped the stranger's lithe, sand-caked form in his arms.

A groan, low and pained, emitted from the man as Ryouta slowly stood. 

Each step was more cautious than the last, and he carried the stranger into the shade of the palms, away from the danger of rising tide. Slowly, he lowered him back down.

He'd yearned for this moment for six years, but now, his heart was in his throat, frozen but pounding at the same time. He… he wasn't sure if he could even talk to this beautiful stranger.

But… he couldn't just leave him there, injured, most definitely dehydrated and even possibly hungry. 

He looked up at the palm fronds, striping them in shadow. 

He breathed out slowly. 

He was pathetic.

* * *

He shivered, whimpering as he woke. The breeze was light, but his clothes were damp and chilled him to the bone. He was cold, but when his eyes blinked open, he was blinded by white hot sunlight. 

He hissed, holding the back of his hand over his eyes. "Goddamn."

Roaring, hissing, splashing. Waves. The ocean.

And he remembered…

The night sea dark and rough, incessant bobbing, warm water rushing over and around him.

But there was no bobbing now, just the roaring of breaking waves, the hissing of… leaves, in the night. The air still smelled heavily of brine, but under it was the thick, heady scent of lush foliage. 

He was… he was on land.

Shielding his eyes from what light he could, he looked around.

A beach stretched out before him. Cerulean waves lapped at the tawny sand. Green fronds above him striped him in shadow. The sturdy trunks of the trees swayed subtly in the breeze. He slowly sat up. His head was pounding, and the movement made it worse, but he couldn't just lay there all day. 

He lifted a hand up to touch his face, but realized there was fabric wrapped around his forearm. A make-shift bandage. 

Frowning, he checked himself over. There were other wounds, but they were all bandaged up in pieces of cloth. He recognized some as his own clothing, from his torn pants and sleeve. 

Someone… dressed his wounds. 

He looked frantically side to side. Someone was here! He moved to get up, set one hand in the sand, when he noticed what had been set next to him. 

Berries, shaved coconut meat, a smoked fish, even a bird's leg. They were piled up on some sort of long, waxy leaf. Next to them, a peach-colored conch shell. Inside, water. Fresh water. 

He picked that up first in careful hands. The shell was nearly the size of his head. 

He took a few careful sips. He once heard that too much water too fast when one is dehydrated could kill you. He came this far without dying; he wasn't going to fuck that up. Someone had obviously left the food here for him to eat, and he decided to trust their judgment. 

The berries were small and dark and firm, but when he bit into them, they burst with bittersweet juice. He pierced one with his thumbnail. The juice was a dark, dark purple. It almost looked black. He licked it off his thumb. 

The coconut meat was moist and firm, though somewhat bland, but Duke wasn't going to complain. Next, he ate the roasted bird's leg. Juicy, meaty, but more oily than chicken. It reminded him of duck or goose. Perhaps some sort of water fowl. 

He saved the fish for last. While he enjoyed the taste of fish, it seemed too much of a hassle to pick the bones out. 

But there were no bones in this filet -- the fish had been carved by an expert hand. He hummed appreciatively.

Thirst quenched and hunger sated, he looked about for his savior. But there was no one. Only lapping waves and hissing palms and thick, shadow-dappled jungle. 

From far away, he heard the squawking cries of sea birds. 

He sighed, slowly stood up. "Ugh," he groaned, distributing his weight cautiously. He _ached_ all over. And he was still gritty from sand and salt that had dried on his skin. 

The instability of the sand was enough to make him step cautiously out onto the beach. He waddled just close enough to the surf to feel the waves nip at his toes.

He stared out at the waves crashing with their foamy white caps out on some barrier islands. The water closer to the shore was brilliantly clear, blue-green, almost. The strong sunlight sparkled off of it in a dazzling display. 

He sighed, rotated in place, one hand at eyebrow-level as he scanned the beach. There was scattered debris on the beach. He wandered closer. 

He sucked in his breath. 

Some of it looked like it was from the crash that marooned him here.

He glanced back to where he had awoken. Teeth wheedled anxiously at his lower lip. 

He didn't feel comfortable moving too far away; someone else was here, and he didn't want to get himself lost where the person couldn't find him.

He'd explore, but he'd stay close. 

He furrowed his brow. "Hello?" He called. He strayed closer to that spot in the shade of the palms. "Is anybody here?"

The breeze, distant squawking, the hiss of the waves.

But no human reply.

He was sure his savior would return to him eventually.

* * *

The bright afternoon sunlight faded into the oranges and reds of evening, but there were still no other signs of human life, no signs of the person that had dressed his wounds and provided him with food and water. 

He settled down under the shade. If it weren’t for his makeshift bandages and the conch shell, he might have convinced himself that he imagined it all. He tried to stay awake, tried to wait for his helper to come and find him again, but he was so, _so_ tired, and it wasn’t long before he was laying in the sand, asleep.

* * *

In the penumbra of dusk, Ryouta crept closer to the beach. The stranger had fallen asleep at the edge of the palms, right where Ryouta had left him that morning. 

He was on his side, black hair spilling out around him in a tangled heap. His fine-boned hands were close to his face as he breathed softly. A cool breeze wafted in from the sea, and he shivered, gooseflesh raising up along his bare arms. 

Ryouta reached under his arm to grab the rolled-up material he was holding there. It was a blanket, weaved from dried palm fronds and carefully peeled and picked vines. It was rough, and it wasn’t the most comfortable blanket ever, but it did help to shield one from the sometimes chilly oceanic breezes. 

Carefully, he draped it over the stranger’s form. He slowly crouched down and opened the hand-woven basket strapped to his back. He pulled out berries, fruits, all wrapped in banana leaves, and then a hollowed-out coconut containing fresh water. Guilt ate at him for waiting this long to bring more food and water, but the stranger had made sure not to stray too far from this spot -- which only made Ryouta feel even more guilty.

That and the anxiety bubbled and curled in his chest and churned into a breath-stopping concoction, and he hurried to put his basket-backpack on. 

A breathy sigh, rustling -- the stranger stirred in his sleep, and Ryouta glanced down at him again.

His body had curled tighter under the cover of the blanket, only his closed eyes and wildly mussed hair sticking out from it. 

A faint smile twitched at Ryouta’s lips, and he slowly stepped back, back, though he couldn’t take his eyes off of that sweetly angelic sight. 

_crunch_

He wasn’t sure what he stepped on -- a plant, a crab, and he didn’t have the time to check when the stranger visibly started. He turned on his heel and darted into the darkened jungle. And though his heart pounded in his ears, he still heard the stranger calling to him.

He didn’t stop running until he reached the path to his cliffside cave. 

He bent over, gasping, his hands on his knees, sweat slicking his skin. 

When his heart rate and breathing slowed, he cursed and slapped himself on the forehead.

“ _Idiot!_ ” he hissed.

He wasn’t sure if he was mad at himself for not watching where he was stepping…

… Or for running away.

* * *

Duke blinked. He still couldn’t stop staring at the jungle that had swallowed his visitor whole. He’d seen him, just for an instant, as he was running away. But it had all happened too fast -- and Duke had been too tired -- for any of it to retain any clarity in his mind’s eye.

But he’d been there -- Duke’s savior -- and he’d left presents. 

Duke finally looked down, down at where a blanket -- woven from plant matter, had settled around his waist. Little leaf packets of food had been set at his side as well as -- he picked it up -- a coconut filled with water.

He frowned off into the forest. If it weren't for the heavy soreness of his body, he would have chased the other man. (And it was a man -- that much Duke knew.)

He was shy…? Afraid, maybe?

Duke wasn't sure. But, at least he seemed to have the best intentions.

* * *

The trend continued for a couple of days. Whenever Duke woke up, or whenever he came to that spot after his brief excursions, he would find food and water set out for him. Even additional blankets, and, on one afternoon, a comb, hand-carved from some sort of seashell.

It was beautiful, delicately crafted. And Duke used it, though with the utmost caution (he didn't want to break it), to untangle his mess of black hair. 

His healing wounds itched, as did the sunburns he collected from his time here thus far. But it could be so much worse -- he wasn’t starving, nor was he dehydrated, nor was he sick. The aches of his sore body gradually faded, but he was still stiff from lying on the sand (or recently, an extra hand-woven, mat-like blanket). He’d stretch and walk about in the morning, and as the hours passed by, he got braver and braver, and strayed farther and farther from his palm-shaded abode. 

Like today, he ambled slowly down the beach after consuming his breakfast. No matter how hard he tried, or how early he woke, the stranger was long gone. Duke would doubt he visited at all if he didn’t leave food and water behind each and every time. 

The coastline was beautiful -- the sea such a deep blue-green it seemed like it jumped right off of some tacky-but-tantalizing postcard. Farther out, the beginning of a reef darkened the white-sanded sea bottom. From the variety he received each morning for breakfast, Duke was sure it was teeming with sea life. 

He sighed and walked farther along, half in the striped shadows of the palm fronds, and kicked at the sand wistfully. Some meter ahead a small crab scuttled away to duck under plant debris. The waves hissed, and still, miles away, birds continued to squawk and cry. 

He looked back out to the glittering sea, then ahead where the coast belled out in a convex curve. 

He had no idea where he was, or even _what_ this landmass upon which he washed was. He hoped that it was attached to some sort of mainland, but, worse case scenario, this was an island in the middle of the ocean. 

He hoped it wasn’t, but all signs pointed to it. 

Besides his shy helper and the occasional debris washing up on shore, there was no sign of any other human beings (though there might be some in the jungle, which Duke had not yet worked up the courage to explore -- he had no idea what sort of animals lurked within, and, with his luck, he’d get bitten by a venomous snake and die a slow, agonizing death. He doubted that any people in the forest would completely ignore the bounty of the sea, anyways).

He followed the curve of the beach, around a cape of some sort, and a peaceful, picturesque lagoon awaited him on the other side. 

He paused a moment to admire the glittering of the jewel-like waters, the swaying of the palms, the visible flocks of seabirds in flight far beyond. Serene, the lapping of the waves and the call of the marine waterfowl. But then he noticed another movement -- over on the other side of the lagoon, a figure stood on a rock, one of several that spanned like massive stepping stones out to sea. 

He gasped.

A human!

And based on that muscle-bound silhouette, it was his mysterious helper, too. 

He was too far away to see properly, but Duke ducked into the trunk of a palm tree to hide and observe what he could.

He was broad, though his height was hard to discern from this far away. Duke could only see the man’s back -- his broad shoulders, darkened by the sun, and his dark hair that fell down damn near his ass in wild, tied-back locks. He crouched down, thick thighs and calves flexing beneath the dark material of some sort of loincloth -- or maybe shorts, it was hard to tell from this far away. 

He reached into the water, turning just slightly so Duke could see the vague suggestion of a face, and he stood, some type of net hauled up in his thick hands. Several fish flopped about in the trap. The man pulled them onto the rock, and proceeded to… sort through them? He seemed to be letting most of them go (gently cupping them and lowering them into the water), perhaps because they were too small, or maybe even inedible. Duke knew that many tropical fish had defense mechanisms that rendered them toxic to the human system. When there were only two fish left, the man picked up a stone that was at his side -- and proceeded to give his prey a swift death. 

Duke flinched, but he supposed it was better than letting the fish asphyxiate to death. 

He stayed crouched, putting the rock aside, and instead picking up what seemed to be a knife. Soon enough, the water around him was stained red with fresh fish guts. He returned the pieces he didn’t want or need to the sea, where they were sure to be eaten up by their brethren. Then, with the gutted and fileted fish on the end of a spear, the man, with surprising agility for his size, stepped and hopped across the rocks back to the shore, his net stowed over one shoulder. 

Duke resisted the urge to approach. He was certain that the man would flee once again. 

He sighed. He would just have to be patient. 

He turned back the way he came.

* * *

Ryouta looked over his shoulder when he reached the shore, and blinked with surprise when he saw a figure melt from the shadows of a palm. It was the stranger, but he didn’t approach, instead heading around the cape, presumably to go back to the area that he had claimed as his camp. 

Guilt gnawed at Ryouta’s stomach. 

It was no wonder the stranger didn’t come to greet him -- he hadn’t been the most welcoming host so far. 

But he was glad that it wasn’t stopping the stranger from accepting his help. He still ate the food and drank the water Ryouta left like offerings at a shrine, and a warm bubble formed in Ryouta’s stomach when he saw that the stranger was keeping his hair combed. 

Ryouta had given him the comb he had carved for himself -- he couldn’t bear the thought of cutting his hair short enough not to worry about it -- but it didn’t take him long to find a suitable shell to carve as a replacement. The stranger’s hair was finer but curlier than his own, and he hoped that the comb didn’t tug too hard. Hair like that was probably hard to upkeep…

He sighed, and continued his way towards his home. Hopefully the stranger wouldn’t mind smoked fish for dinner again… He hadn’t wanted to go away for too long and too far, just in case something happened. Some albatross sounded good, though. Maybe he’d work up the courage to go catch one the day after tomorrow.

He pressed his lips tight together. It seemed like he had to work up the courage to do a lot of things lately.

* * *

Duke forced himself to stay awake, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing even. Exhaustion crept around the edges of his mind, and he found himself drifting off more than once, but he managed to reel himself back in. 

He was going to try to make contact tonight.

 _If_ the stranger ever returned. 

It was surely on the darkest edges of dusk, but tonight was a full moon, and the man seemed to know these jungles well enough to navigate them in the dark. 

Duke wanted to sigh, but he kept his breathing under control, at a sleepy slowness that threatened to pull him under the waves of unconsciousness. He focused on the sounds around him, on the waves lapping at the shore, at the wind through the fronds. He hoped he would hear the man coming, but he was surprisingly stealthy -- save for that first night, Duke was never awoken by the man’s comings and goings. 

So, he waited, drifting in and out, until suddenly, he heard it. The hiss of leaves brushing together, but out of rhythm of the wind. Every muscle in his body wanted to instinctively tense, but he forced himself to remain relaxed beneath his woven blanket. The hissing and brushing of a body on leaves continued, and, if Duke focused enough, he could hear the man step so cautiously each time. 

Closer and closer, just a foot away, and then he stopped.

Quiet sounds as he unloaded food and water for Duke, and then the sound as he slung his basket onto his back and moved to stand. 

Duke whirled and grabbed gently onto the other man’s thick, hot wrist. It immediately tensed under his hand. He could _feel_ the man’s pulse thundering away.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, and he took a moment before he looked up into the other man’s face. His breath caught in his throat. Despite the other man’s build, he had a boyish face. He was handsome, with his strong jaw and dark eyes, which stared down with wide surprise. 

Chapped lips parted, thick, calloused fingers trembled as they set over Duke’s own hand.

The stranger didn’t say anything…

… but he didn’t run away.

Duke gave a small, friendly smile.

And the shaky smile that was returned was answer enough. 

“I’m Duke,” he whispered.

“R-Ryouta,” the man stuttered back.

Duke’s smile grew. 

Ryouta seemed shy, but Duke was eager to spend more time with his new acquaintance, hopefully.

Little did he know that the bond between them would grow far past acquaintanceship, beyond even the bonds of friendship. 

But, that’s a story for another time… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to write more for this, but I realized it would’ve gone on far longer. But if you want more, don’t be afraid to request a sequel, and I’ll just add it onto Hatshipping at a later date. 
> 
> Next Ship: Menteeshipping (Duke Devlin/Otogi Ryuuji x Bonz/"Ghost" Kotsuzuka)


	6. Menteeshipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Menteeshipping (Duke Devlin/Otogi Ryuuji x ‘Ghost’ Katsuzuka/Bonz)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Menteeshipping' because Otogi looked up to Pegasus as though Pegasus were his mentor, and because Katsuzuka was literally Bandit Keith's mentee (until Bandit Keith was a dick and turned on him).
> 
> Also, this chapter features a Yakuza AU, strong dom/sub themes, and very mild dubious consent. Also also, smut. So yeah. There’s that. I’m always ready to write smut, so don’t be afraid to request some. ;P I’m also trying my hand at an obviously Japanese setting + honorifics, so tell me how I’m doing with that, if you don’t mind <3

**Deal With The Devil**

Running a macabre novelties shop on this side of town? Difficult.

Running a macabre novelties shop while also under the thumb of the Otogi syndicate of the yakuza? Incredibly difficult. 

‘Ghost’ Kotsuzuka worried a dry, pale lip between his teeth when he saw the men walk in. “H-Hello,” he greeted, blinked rapidly at the two musclemen that towered over his stacks of occult books and grotesquely refurbished anatomical models. They didn’t respond. They never did. The dead probably spoke more than they did.

Kotsuzuka drummed his fingers on the countertop. The two brutes parted, stepping down different isles to prowl their way to him. The maneuver made visible Otogi Ryuuji, their boss and the young heir to the Otogi syndicate.

Kotsuzuka gulped dryly. Otogi was much more intimidating than his two henchmen could ever hope to be,  _ combined _ . Maybe because if Otogi so much as cocked his head the right way, Kotsuzuka would drop off the face of the earth and not even the news would comment on his disappearance. It would be like he never even existed.

Otogi was perusing down the aisle, looking at the merchandise with cocked eyebrows, pursed lips, and curious hands. His interest in the products always looked genuine, but he never purchased anything. Probably because he was normally here for a very,  _ very  _ different reason. He picked up a book – a compendium of vampire lore collected from all over the world – and thumbed through it. His soft leather riding gloves rasped audibly across the pages. He hummed and set it back onto the shelf.

Kotsuzuka barely resisted the urge to whittle at his nails with his teeth while he awaited Otogi’s arrival at the front counter.

That’s probably why Otogi did his slow browsing of the merchandise – to get Kotsuzuka’s nerves to an unbearable forte.

The bastard.

Eventually,  _ after an eternity _ , Otogi was ambling up to the front desk, his hands tucked languidly in the pockets of his dark jeans. It looked like he had ridden there on his motorcycle that day, what with the gloves and the leather vest and the long, thick pants, despite the balmy summer heat. His lackeys had no doubt followed behind in one of those nondescript SUVs.

“Uh, h-hello,” Kotsuzuka repeated. “How can I help you today, Otogi-sama?” His voice trembled in his throat, but it luckily didn’t crack again.

He knew the answer to the question before Otogi even opened his mouth. “Why, Zuka-kun, I just came to check on my favorite  _ client _ .”

Kotsuzuka’s lip twitched.  _ Client _ implied that the interaction was mutual.

“It seems you have a pending payment yet to be fulfilled,” Otogi said, a dangerous, lilting singsong as he traced a long finger along a crack on the countertop. He stared down at Kotsuzuka through his long black lashes. “ _ Another _ one, I should say. They’re adding up, Zuka-kun. I’m getting rather worried.”

Kotsuzuka could feel the sweat beading up along his hairline. “Business has been rough lately. Customers have been scarce, and the ones that come in only do so to gawk at the merchandise.”  _ And me. They gawk at  _ **_me_ ** _ , too. _ “They don’t often purchase anything…” he trailed off, gulping as he watched Otogi’s unchanging face. Those vivid green eyes seemed so cold, so hard. Dread crawled up Kotsuzuka’s spine. His next words were a croak. “I could barely make rent this month.”

Otogi’s head tilted to the side, just a bit, but it was enough to make his dark, silky hair slide off his shoulder. Still, his expression remained static. He said nothing.

Kotsuzuka averted his eyes, pressed his hands to his face, bony elbows digging into the countertop. “You probably hear that a lot,” he whispered. He didn’t even have the energy to beg, plead for more time to collect the money.

He couldn’t even say that his money was wasted when he paid the yakuza. This wasn’t necessarily the nicest neighborhood, and the Otogi syndicate did a good job of keeping the streets clean of any petty thugs that might harass the shops, and, upon the instance that he  _ did _ get harassed that one time, the Otogi syndicate was quick to eliminate the problem. It was like… gang insurance.

But they weren’t known for being lenient when payment wasn’t being given. The senior Otogi – Mister Clown, as they called him – made sure of it.

He sighed, wetly, on the verge of tears. He hid them behind his hands. He had to at least try to preserve the thinning shreds of his dying dignity. “I understand if you have to use other means to collect payment, Otogi-sama.” He strained hard to keep the wobble out of his voice. “I… have some antiques from my parents if you must.” Then, he failed, cracking and dipping into the deeper tones of someone who was about to sob. “You could sell them.”

“You didn’t think to sell them yourself?” Otogi asked quietly.

Kotsuzuka’s breath was sharp. “L-Last resort. Didn’t want to if I didn’t have to.” All his family members had died and left him behind, his grandparents, his parents. All that remained of them were their former belongings. Maybe he was just too intensely sentimental with the way he clung to the last decrepit scraps of their memory.

Otogi hummed. Kotsuzuka couldn’t bear to move his hands away from his face, much less look at the man standing over him.

“But if that doesn’t cover it…” A shuddering inhale. “I understand if you have other steps you must take.”

Kotsuzuka didn’t feel like he had much to live for anymore, anyways. His friends had long since turned into common thugs and were probably off somewhere committing crimes, in prison, or extinguished by the yakuza. His parents were long since dead. Except for extended family he had never even met before, he had no other living relatives.

No one would miss him, he suddenly realized. No one would miss him if Otogi just made him… disappear.

Very few people would even notice that his shop closed, and those that did would only do so with a fleeting curiosity.

Kotsuzuka was good at somehow surviving anything that was thrown at him despite all the odds, but he wasn’t so sure he could get past this.

“Kotsuzuka-san,” Otogi’s voice came, steady and quiet, that teasing lilt gone. “Kotsuzuka-san, look at me.” Firm, brooking no protest.

He could only peer between his fingers. Otogi had leaned down over him, his leather-clad shoulders outlined softly in the dim light of the shop.

“Move your hands, completely,” Otogi commanded. His voice was solid as stone and just as irresistible. “Show me your face.”

Kotsuzuka’s hands dropped to the countertop. The air chilled the tears trickling down his cheeks. Those vivid green eyes cut through him, deeper than the intense but otherwise unreadable expression.

“Stop crying,” he said, and though his tone was stern, it was not harsh – as if he were reprimanding a child.

Kotsuzuka bit his lip and nodded.

“I will be back tomorrow and—”

“—You’ll want the money?” Kotsuzuka croaked.

“Do  _ not _ interrupt me,” Otogi snapped.

Kotsuzuka jolted deep to his core and tilted his chin down.

“Look at me,” Otogi reminded sharply. A tug deep in his gut compelled Kotsuzuka to obey. “I will return tomorrow, right before the shop closes. I will give you an alternative to paying off your debt. If you answer no, I want the money by Monday. Is this clear?”

Kotsuzuka nodded shakily, his eyes never leaving the unblemished planes of Otogi’s face. “Yes, I understand, Otogi-sama.”

“Good,” and Otogi straightened, his one dangling earring glinting in the dim light. “I’ll be seeing you then, Zuka-kun,” he purred. His hand trailed on the countertop before he turned on his heel and strutted down the main aisle and back to the shop door.

Kotsuzuka blinked. The two henchmen were already gone, sometime during their conversation, perhaps. His sigh hitched wetly in his throat and he scrubbed his face with one shaking hand. At least he embarrassed himself in front of only Otogi (although if he had to choose, he would pick crying in front of the henchmen than one of the head honchos, especially someone as dignified and… suave as Otogi).

He couldn’t stop quivering with anxiety in his chair, and when customers came in, his shaky smile seemed to be even more disturbing than normal, and they were hasty to leave each time. Kotsuzuka would curse himself afterward. He couldn’t help that he looked like a little creep. It was a glandular problem, not something of his own choice or design.

He sighed and pillowed his forehead in his hands.

What was he going to do?

What was  _ Otogi _ going to do?

He wasn’t so sure he wanted to know, but tomorrow was too close, and he would find out whether he liked it or not.

Fortunately for him, he already took strong medication for his insomnia, because if it weren’t for that, there was no doubt that he wouldn’t have found sleep that night.

* * *

The nerves were overwhelming. Kotsuzuka ended up wiping down the entire shop  _ three  _ times.  _ Before _ noon. Time raced by, nonetheless. He spent the afternoon dusting even more, adjusting things to the slightest centimeter on the shelves, organizing his messy desk, and constantly reloading his email on the beat-up old CRT computer in the back.

He did get two emails for online orders, which was cool. More money was  _ exactly _ what he needed.

The two hours before closing dragged along with all the grace of a shambling corpse. He’d swear he’d look at the clock fifteen minutes later, but the minute hand hadn’t moved the slightest. Several times he compared it to the electronic clock on his cash register and on the computer, and each time he would sigh and press a hand to his face.

The clock was right. Time was just slow as molasses.

Then, it was just a minute before official closing, and Kotsuzuka figured he might as well start closing. He turned off the customized ‘open’ sign that glowed sinisterly in the window, and he was opening the front door to flip the door sign when he heard it.

The roaring of a motorcycle tore through the peaceful penumbra of dusk. Kotsuzuka raised an arm to keep the single headlight from outright blinding him. The bike banked into the small alley just next to the shop.

Kotsuzuka already knew who it was.

He waited at the door, head respectfully bowed as the engine cut and the sound of boots thumping on pavement echoed down the alleyway.

“Ah, Zuka-kun. So very polite. Thank you,” Otogi said, with his usual simpering sweet tone, and one hand rested for just a moment on Kotsuzuka’s frail shoulder before it was dragging across his chest as Otogi entered the shop.

Kotsuzuka followed him, let the door swing shut. The little bell above it rang, and though that bell ordinarily sounded dull and dim, here and now it sounded sharp and clear. Kotsuzuka nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of it.

Otogi looked over his shoulder back at Kotsuzuka, his green eyes glinting in the dim and his abyssal hair slithering over his leather vest at the movement.

Kotsuzuka gulped, his back against the shop door.

Most of the lights inside the shop were off – only the one deep inside by the office was lit, and the streetlamps outside leaked in through the front windows. It made it dim, and in the shadows, with his glinting eyes and lean figure, Otogi Ryuuji looked like an animal looming in the dark waiting for his prey.

Kotsuzuka shuffled from one foot to the other a few times before he worked up the courage to continue through the shop. He edged by Otogi in the narrow isle. Otogi’s scent – leather and wind and something reminiscent of exotic spices – inundated him for that short moment that they were inches from one another. He held his breath, hoping to keep a creeping warmth from spreading from his lungs, and continued to the back office. Down the hall was a door, behind which crouched a staircase leading to his living quarters above. He felt especially vulnerable, with Otogi stepping ever nearer to his home and sanctuary. He ducked into the office, and Otogi’s boots clicked after him.

There was only one small chair behind the once-cluttered desk, but there was a stool that he used for the higher shelves stored in the corner. He hastily moved it to set in front of the desk. He blinked when he heard the creaking of the ratty old office chair. Otogi was already settling down in it, one elbow on the battered armrest, his knuckles posed lightly against his high cheekbone.

Kotsuzuka, speechless, stared down at him.

Otogi languidly gestured forward, crossed one leg over the other. “Take a seat, Zuka-kun,” playful, but firm. There was no room for refusal.

So Kotsuzuka perched on the stool in front of his own desk, which was now commandeered by the son of an influential crime boss.

_ What was his life coming to? _

He sighed, hooked his feet around the legs of the stool.

Otogi’s face was impassive. It didn’t calm Kotsuzuka any. His father had always said that the dog without a bark had the fiercest bite.

Green eyes blinked slowly, and Otogi’s head tilted just so. Kotsuzuka chewed his lip. He was used to being stared at, but Otogi… Otogi  _ observed _ , analyzed.

A short hum. “You never did greet me, Zuka-kun.”

“O-Oh. Sorry, Otogi-sama,” he choked. “Hello, Otogi-sama. It’s… good to see you again.”

The smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of Otogi’s lips. Wry, clever.

“It’s good to see you, too, Zuka-kun. How was business today?” he asked off-handedly. One of his slender, gloved hands reached forward to absently push and roll a cheap black pen on the desktop.

“It, uh, it was slow,” Kotsuzuka replied, watched Otogi pick up the pen and twirl it on his knuckles. A cold sweat beaded up on the back of his neck and made the small hairs prickle and itch. “I did get some online orders, though. I called the delivery company to come pick the boxes up.” The words were just spilling out – Kotsuzuka was babbling nervously. “They came to get them a couple hours ago. No physical customers bought anything, though.”

Otogi nodded, slow, seemingly thoughtful. “Any little bit helps.”

“Yeah,” Kotsuzuka croaked.

Those green eyes were still on his face. It made his cheeks hot, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt a little.

_ When was he going to just cut to the chase? _

But Otogi continued to sit there in silence and stare at him. Kotsuzuka stared up at the dusty ceiling nervously. He’d have to clean up there soon. It could have been seconds, or even minutes that went by, because it seemed like an  _ eternity  _ to Kotsuzuka.

He finally lowered his eyes, stared just off Otogi’s leather-clad shoulder to the cracked drywall behind him. “So… uh… you wanted to… discuss something with me?”

Another hum. “Yes, I did. You have quite the outstanding debt, Zuka-kun.”

Kotsuzuka frowned to himself. He was only three months behind, including this month… But he supposed the yakuza wasn’t particularly known for its debt forgiveness… But three months’ worth of ‘payments’? He wasn’t sure he could sell enough of  _ anything _ – merchandise, family heirlooms,  _ anything _ – to be able to pay it all off by the beginning of next week.

“I… will not be able to have the money by Monday,” he whispered, frowning, staring at the edge of the desk where the plastic veneer was wearing away to reveal the particle board underneath.

“Not even by liquidating your assets?” Otogi asked, fingers drumming once on the desk surface.

Kotsuzuka shook his head. “People don’t want my merchandise, and I don’t think my family heirlooms are worth enough.” He chuckled deprecatingly to himself, scrubbed a hand down his cheek. Any other person could even resort to prostitution… but he knew his ghoulish bad looks would scare away even  _ that _ type of customer. After all, people would hardly want to deal with him  _ for free _ , much less if they had to pay for it.

Otogi’s head tilted again, to the other side, as if to scrutinize him from a new angle. Kotsuzuka wondered what he saw. Another godforsaken  _ hum _ .

Otogi straightened from his reclined position, leaned his elbows on the desktop. His gloved fingers twined together. His mouth was hidden behind his knuckles. It drew Kotsuzuka’s attention to those jewel-like green eyes. Another slow blink, thick black lashes lowering and lifting like a single stroke from a butterfly’s wings. “That leaves you three choices.”

Kotsuzuka gulped. That was one more than he had originally thought.

“One; try to obtain the money by Monday. You already said you weren’t sure you could. Which means that you might pull it off by the skin of your teeth or you will face the consequences of your outstanding debt. That brings us to your second option – do nothing, try nothing, and simply accept the consequences of your outstanding debt when the time comes.” Those eyes narrowed. The green was bright but there was a darkness there, and Kotsuzuka shuddered. The consequences… death, or perhaps worse than that – made an example of in some manner –  _ do not stiff the Otogi syndicate _ .

“And the third…?” Kotsuzuka whispered, pressing his fingertips into his temple, perhaps with enough force to bruise, though he didn’t feel it in his chasm of emotional turmoil.

“Accept my offer, and all your debts will be absolved. Tonight,” he said, a low, purring rumble.

Kotsuzuka tugged at his collar absently. “Tonight…?” he echoed. What could he possibly do tonight that would be worth that much…?

The desk chair creaked as Otogi stood. “Yes, tonight. I can see the confusion on your face, Zuka-kun.” He ambled around the edge of the desk until he was in front of Kotsuzuka. He leaned back on the surface; his palms braced on the edge. “You see, there is something you can give me, something very valuable…”

Kotsuzuka’s eyebrows furrowed and lifted, his lips parted as he stared up into those verdant eyes.

Otogi leaned forward, a hand reaching out, his gloved fingers brushing under Kotsuzuka’s chin and lifting his head up. “… You.”

“What?” Kotsuzuka breathed, disbelieving, blinking widely.

Otogi’s shoulders hunched forward, curled over Kotsuzuka, whose spine curved with the gentle force of a leather-clad hand on his jaw. “You, your body, under my control, for one night.” His other hand came down on the back edge of the stool. Kotsuzuka was caged in, trapped in Otogi’s heat, in his scent – leather and wind and spice. Otogi’s face was so close – Kotsuzuka could see in explicit detail the lurid bluish ripples in his irises, could feel the gentle breeze of his breath on his cheek. “You, bound by my words, and my words, law.” His hand tightened, and leather dug in on either side of Kotsuzuka’s jaw. “You will do what I say and when. I will touch you and do to you as I please.” Closer, and his abyssal hair was brushing Kotsuzuka’s shoulder, his neck, making him shiver.

Kotsuzuka felt his breaths passing in and out of his lungs in hot, fast gusts.

This… had to be a dream.

He’s always found Otogi Ryuuji to be  _ very _ attractive, yes, but he never entertained the thought of reciprocation – it was just so unbelievably unrealistic that he never bothered to imagine it beyond a single passing thought a couple of years ago, when he first met the young crime boss.

And now…

He wanted to question it.  _ All _ of it –  _ why  _ would Otogi extend this offer to  _ Kotsuzuka _ , of all people. It seemed…  _ too good to be true _ .

On the other hand, it seemed to lend greater meaning to this encounter. Out of all the people that would gladly accept an offer for an… encounter with Otogi, he picked Kotsuzuka.

Otogi’s lip curled into a smirk. “You seem  _ receptive _ , Zuka-kun.” He tilted his head just so, and his nose brushed along Kotsuzuka’s. “Very good.”

“Why me?” Kotsuzuka breathed.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to question me,” Otogi hissed, hand tightening again (Kotsuzuka could feel Otogi’s nails through the soft leather), and Kotsuzuka could taste his words on his tongue. “The next words out of your mouth will be either ones of acceptance or ones of refusal.”

Kotsuzuka’s lips trembled as he tried to catch his breath.

The offer was titillating – there was no doubt to that – but a deep dread coiled low in his stomach. Otogi could do  _ anything _ to him –  _ anything _ – and Kotsuzuka wasn’t even sure what  _ anything _ entailed.

What if he just wanted Kotsuzuka to dress up in an embarrassing dog suit and crawl around on his hands and knees all night? (He had, in fact, heard that Otogi demanded that of a young man who had lost a bet to him.)

What if this was all a seductive ploy to get Kotsuzuka to agree, and Otogi will simply use the night to humiliate him, to  _ put him in his place? _ As he seemed to be so fond of doing…

But even then, would he rather possibly die? Or face a fate worse than death?

He sighed tightly, leaned into the grip on his chin and jaw. “Yes, I accept, Otogi-sama.”

Otogi had a smirk like a jackal. “Good, Zuka-kun.” He released him, and Kotsuzuka had to scramble to regain balance on the stool. The rasp of a zipper along its teeth cut through the thick air; Otogi was taking his vest off. “Where shall we start…” He draped the leather across the desk, and then he was leaning closer again, lips close to Kotsuzuka’s ear. “… Zuka-kun?”

* * *

Kotsuzuka kept his living space well-organized, even though he didn’t have many possessions to keep organized. His belongings seemed to be even more sparse and drab with Otogi standing in their midst.

Otogi lifted his foot as he stood in the genkan. The command was unspoken, but Kotsuzuka crouched nonetheless, carefully plucked at the laces on expensive patent leather and wiggled the boot off once it was loose enough. He did the same for the next boot. He set them aside neatly, tucked the laces inside to keep them off the floor and out of the way.

The floor creaked as Otogi walked further into the apartment. Despite the traditional entryway, the rest of the space was widely open, studio-style, with only a few closets, a pantry, and a bathroom set separately from the rest of the room. Thankfully, he had cleaned thoroughly before opening the store – the bed was made, his dirty clothes deposited into the hamper, all the dishes cleaned and put away. There weren’t many furnishings, but they were all clear of dust and grime and all the objects stored on them were neat and organized.

Kotsuzuka hurried to take off his shoes, and when he was finally stepping up from the genkan, Otogi was looking over his shoulder at him.

“I would like a glass of water, Zuka-kun.”

Kotsuzuka bowed his head. “Yes, Otogi-sama.” He scuttled to the kitchen. None of his glasses or cups matched – they were all hand-me-downs and novelty items that now made a haphazard collection in his cupboards. Stepping up on his stepping stool, he took down a single glass, a clear one in the shape of an elongated shelf.

“Get one for yourself, too, Zuka-kun,” Otogi continued.

A white mug – when heated, it turned blood red. Unfortunately, the water in the filtered pitcher in his fridge was far too cold to see the effects. He turned away from the sink.

Otogi was perched in one of the few armchairs. It had ripped upholstery, but it was by the far the most comfortable of all three. It was posed right next to a small side-table. The sci-fi thriller book Kotsuzuka had been reading for the past week was still on it. Otogi was peering at it curiously but hadn’t yet taken the liberty to pick it up and examine it more closely.

“Here, Otogi-sama,” Kotsuzuka said quietly, held out the skull glass.

Otogi arched an amused brow but accepted it. “Sit down, Zuka-kun.” He languidly gestured to the chair just across from his own. Between the two was a simple glass coffee table.

The soft cushions felt wonderful to his tense body, but with those lurid green eyes watching him, he couldn’t bear to relax back into the chair. The water, however, felt wonderful to his dry mouth.

Otogi was enjoying his drink in silence, and Kotsuzuka was trying his best not to stare at him.

Was this it? Did Otogi just want him to wait on him hand-and-foot? Kotsuzuka hid his frown behind the rim of his mug. He probably had people waiting on him all the time – people to take his shoes off, get his water.

What had happened to that heady tension in the office downstairs?

Kotsuzuka sighed silently. He tried not to feel too disappointed. This was probably for the best. He pressed a hand to his forehead. He was  _ stupid _ to think that Otogi would  _ want _ him.

No one wanted him.

With his glass just under half-empty, he carefully set it on the coffee table. The clinking of ceramics on glass echoed sharply in the oppressive silence.

Those green eyes were still observing him, and he made a small show of picking at the peeling pleather on the chair’s arm. “Is there anything else you want, Otogi-sama?”

Otogi hummed, set his glass down, too. Kotsuzuka looked at him. He was back to reclining, languid and poised. He made that beat-up armchair seem like a goddamn throne.

Those green eyes stared at Kotsuzuka with enough intensity to make him feel skewered in place.

“Strip for me, Zuka-kun,” he purred, cheek propped on his knuckle and elbow pressed to the arm of the chair.

Kotsuzuka would have choked on his water if he had taken another sip of it.

“Otogi-sama –”

“Hm, no. No questions, no responses. Only a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘yes, Otogi-sama.’ Understand, Zuka-kun?” Sharp, concise.

Kotsuzuka bowed his head. “Yes, Otogi-sama.” His heart, once settling, now began to flutter in his chest like a panicked hummingbird. He stood slowly, hands shaking as he lifted his hand to the neatly tied hood strings sitting just under his throat. “Here, Otogi-sama?”

“Yes, Zuka-kun, right here,” Otogi murmured in response.

A tremulous exhale. With but a tug, the knot was undone. He edged the hem up, pried the hoodie up, and when his head and wild crop of hair was through, he set the hoodie on the arm of the chair behind him. He had a plain white undershirt on, and he bit his lip as he plucked at the material. He looked up through his lashes.

Green eyes were locked onto him, long gloved fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass. He gulped, but pulled the undershirt off, too.

He crossed his arms over his bony chest, hugged himself. Goosebumps rippled across his skin, from the chill, from his nerves, from the heat bubbling up under his ribs and in his belly.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Otogi clucked, leaning forward again, glossy hair slipping and slithering and hanging in gentle waves.

Kotsuzuka lowered his arms, dropped his hands to the button on his shorts. He pushed his socks off with the opposite foot, then popped the button open. The zipper seemed loud in the quiet dim of his apartment. He pushed the shorts off his slim hips. He was just in his underwear now.

“That’s good,” Otogi breathed. “Come here, Zuka-kun.”

Kotsuzuka shuffled closer, his bare feet padding quietly on the laminate flooring. When he was close enough, Otogi’s leather-clad hand caught him around the hip, just above the waistband of his briefs. The gloves were slightly cold and damp from Otogi’s glass. He shivered, but didn’t resist when Otogi tugged him close, close,  _ closer _ , pulling him until he was reeling and catching himself on the arms of the chair, one knee propped on the cushion between both of Otogi’s legs.

“Arms behind your back, Zuka-kun,” Otogi commanded, and his breath gusted against Kotsuzuka’s sternum.

Kotsuzuka obeyed, arching his back to prevent himself from falling right over the man before him. Otogi grasped both of his tiny wrists in one hand, pressed them closer to the small of his back, and it curled him forward.

His face felt hot with a torrid blush at being presented so…  _ lewdly _ .

Otogi hummed again, and Kotsuzuka was close enough to feel it vibrate through him, to his bones and his belly that was tingling with warmth. He gasped lightly as Otogi’s other hand settled just beneath his collarbone. Otogi was a tall man, and, as such, had big hands, big hands that seemed even bigger on Kotsuzuka’s petite frame.

That big hand trailing over his chest, to his stomach, the soft leather tickling him all the while, made him melt with a soft moan.

“Receptive,” Otogi murmured. “You like being touched, don’t you?”

He could only nod as he fought the urge to pant like a dog in heat.

That didn’t seem to please Otogi – he jerked Kotsuzuka closer by his wrists on his back. “Don’t you, Zuka-kun?” The other hand grasped at his waist and stroked up to his ribs firmly.

“Y-Yes, Otogi-sama,” he whimpered.

“Mm, wonderful.” His thumb brushed over a pebbled nipple, and Kotsuzuka jolted in his arms with a gasp. “Sensitive, too.” His chuckle was a rumbling, bestial thing. “We’re going to have so much fun, Zuka-kun.” He leaned forward, and then a hot tongue was lapping at Kotsuzuka’s nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh with nudges and swirls and lewd licks.

Kotsuzuka bit his lip, stifled his whimpers with hiccups and chokes, and curled his fingers into tight fists.

Oh god,  _ good _ . It was  _ good _ .

And that mouth was gone, leaving damp flesh behind, and a thumb was suddenly digging into his lip, prying it from between his teeth. Otogi’s hot, damp breath clouded on Kotsuzuka’s jaw. “None of that. I will hear you.”

Kotsuzuka closed his eyes and panted against that thumb. “Y-Yes, Otogi-s-sama.”

Another purr, a tongue swiping just under his chin (he gasped), and then those lips were back on his chest, laving attention on Kotsuzuka’s other nipple. He panted and mewled freely, his cheeks hot with embarrassment and growing arousal.

He’d never been touched like this…

“Otogi-sama,” he whimpered when his nipple was teased with such incredible suction. Gentle, but strong, enough to make him writhe. Otogi’s other hand was now holding his hip again, his thumb stroking over the bone with soft, teasing passes. “Otogi-sama…”

Otogi suddenly pulled back and released Kotsuzuka’s wrists. Unsupported, Kotsuzuka scrambled for purchase on the chair arms. Panting, he looked down at Otogi. Those green eyes were dilated, nearly swallowed whole by the dark of the pupils, and those thin-but-shapely lips were swollen and glistening. His pink tongue flicked out, traced the curve of his lower lip. Kotsuzuka gulped at the sight of it.

Otogi’s breath huffed out gently, and he reached for one of Kotsuzuka’s wrists. Kotsuzuka put up little resistance and let Otogi move him, guide him down, down past Otogi’s belt to the front of his dark jeans. Kotsuzuka had hardly touched him before he was palming Otogi eagerly through his pants.

“Otogi-sama,” he breathed. Otogi was hot,  _ hard _ beneath those jeans.

Otogi’s breath caught – just barely audible – and his hips hitched up ever so slightly into Kotsuzuka’s touch. “Eager, are we, Zuka-kun?”

Kotsuzuka closed his eyes against the breath now puffing against his sensitized neck. Otogi was awaiting a response. “ _ Yes _ , Otogi-sama.”

A gloved hand was sinking into Kotsuzuka’s hair and fisting tight. The tension on his scalp made Kotsuzuka whimper and stroke faster over denim. Teeth flashed against his vulnerable neck. “Have you ever sucked dick before, Zuka-kun?” Otogi’s growl made his nerves tingle in his neck all the way to his ears.

“N-No, Otogi-sama,” he whispered brokenly. He’d never even been kissed before.

Suddenly, Otogi was standing, and he set Kotsuzuka on his feet. “Get a pillow.”

Kotsuzuka’s knees were wobbly, but he managed to step away without tipping right over. “Yes, Otogi-sama.”

He grabbed the nearest one off his bed. It was thin and lumpy from what was probably too many years of use, but he was sure it would do. He walked about as gracefully as a newborn fawn back to Otogi, and he presented the pillow.

“Put it on the floor at my feet.”

Kotsuzuka obeyed.

“Now kneel on it. Facing me.”

… Kotsuzuka obeyed. Otogi seemed to look good from any angle, but this one made Kotsuzuka tingle all over. He panted, chin tilted up, awaiting further instruction.

Otogi was working his belt off, and though his face seemed composed, his hands trembled visibly. Unbuttoned, unzipped, he pushed his dark jeans down.

Kotsuzuka gasped at the sight before him. Flushed, thick, veins bulging, head glistening. Otogi’s scent was stronger here, muskier, more masculine. It made Kotsuzuka’s thighs tremble and his mouth water. Otogi’s hand was in his hair, tangling in the messy black locks and tugging him in closer until that hot, velvety flesh was sliding wetly along the seam of Kotsuzuka’s lips. “Suck it, Zuka-kun.”

“Yes, Otogi-sama,” he whispered, and he lifted his shaking hands to gently cup him, to reverently stroke. Hot,  _ pulsing _ , and Otogi’s hips jolted minutely into each stroke.

Kotsuzuka let loose an aroused huff, and Otogi hissed. Kotsuzuka let his tongue stroke past parted lips, licked the salty wetness. He moaned, felt it twitch ever so slightly in his hands. Just the tip then, into his mouth, cushioned on his tongue. It was hot and heavy.

“Careful with the teeth,” Otogi murmured, breathless, hand tightening just a tad in Kotsuzuka’s hair.

Kotsuzuka hummed, rolled his lips over his teeth.

He licked, sucked, tried his damnedest, and Otogi guided him with hushed words harsh with pleasure and tugs on his hair that made arousal rush through him. Soon enough, Otogi’s hips were rolling, fucking Kotsuzuka’s face with languid motions as he stroked what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. Otogi was panting, growling, his scent growing stronger as he sweated with ecstasy.

“You learn fast, Zuka-kun,” he panted, hitching a little faster.

Kotsuzuka whimpered. He was hot all over, his skin glistening, a heavy ache building higher and higher between his legs. He gave up stroking, weakly grasped at Otogi’s hips and focused on his tongue, on his suction, on making the sexiest sounds come out of Otogi’s lips. He didn’t expect to enjoy himself so much, but there he was, desperately sucking Otogi’s cock and squirming with the need to touch himself.

Both of Otogi’s hands were tangled in his hair, and they squeezed and tugged and made him want to melt into the floor. Passion tinged the edge of each little pull, in the hastening pace of Otogi’s hips. He was getting close, and Kotsuzuka eagerly tongued at the flesh in his mouth. His hands scrabbled as Otogi got  _ rougher _ , his treatment borderline painful, and his fingers sank into Otogi’s powerful, flexing thighs.

“Z-Zuka-kun,” Otogi hissed. “I’m going to come.”

Kotsuzuka mewled and sucked harder. Lewd, wet noises filled the room, a sinful accompaniment to the panting, the moaning, the growling. Kotsuzuka had never heard anything like it, never heard such sounds that made him so dizzy with lust.

“C-Coming!” Otogi groaned, and he burst in Kotsuzuka’s mouth, filled it to the brim and then some, dripping hot and wet and thick down his spit-slicked chin. He could hardly swallow what he had in his mouth, and he choked slightly.

He was tugged off Otogi, and then suddenly yanked up by his hair into Otogi’s arms. All he could see were those burning green eyes and a lustful, crazed snarl before his eyes were rolling into the back of his head; Otogi’s hand was on him, palming him roughly through his underwear and then stroking harshly. It was mere seconds before he reached climax, bucking and moaning wildly in Otogi’s grasp.

Shivering and shuddering, he hardly noticed that Otogi had picked him up until he was tossed roughly onto the bed. But he didn’t have the time or the mind to complain when Otogi was prying his legs open and pushing his hips between them.

Hot lips were teething fiercely at his ear. “As wonderful as that was, Zuka-kun, your debt isn’t paid in full yet. I require more of you.”

Kotsuzuka arched himself in blatant invitation.

“Yes, Otogi-sama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ended up being much longer than I expected. Anyways, tell me what you liked, what you didn’t like, etc. I left Otogi's feelings and intentions pretty ambiguous on purpose. (Also, he's a lot taller than I thought…? I wouldn't have guessed him any taller than 5'7" but he's apparently 5'11"...? Damn.)
> 
> Next Ship: Constitutionshipping (Yugi Mutou x Rebecca Hawkins|Rebecca Hopkins x Mahad)


	7. Constitutionshipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Constitutionshipping (Yugi Mutou x Rebecca Hawkins|Rebecca Hopkins x Mahad)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the huge delay on this. There’s no point in giving you guys excuse, so let’s just get to the story, yeah?

Yugi grimaced into the mirror. It was all over the place, hanging in his face and down onto his shoulders.

It was getting too long. Not even copious amounts of hair product could get it to stay up anymore.

He puffed the hair out of his face with a resigned sigh.

* * *

Rebecca laughed. “I’ve never seen you wear a beanie before, Yugi!” and she hid her giggle behind one small hand.

He pursed his lips. Heat filtered into his cheeks.

“Ah, come on.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You don’t look bad, or anything.”

He sucked his upper lip between his teeth loudly. “Yeah, well, it’s better than what’s _under_ the hat, I assure you.”

“Oh?” She shifted her hold on the bar above her head to face him more fully. The bus rocked, and the light flashed and shifted across the lenses of her glasses.

He looked around discreetly. No one was watching. He took the black beanie off and grinned at her sheepishly.

Her jaw dropped, and she immediately raised a hand to cover her mouth again. “Oh my god,” she laughed.

“So the beanie’s staying,” Yugi murmured, tugging it back on. He tried all he could, and by the time he needed to leave, it was too late to try to wash his hair and straighten anything out. Thus, he resorted to the most horrific manbun to ever grace the face of the earth (in his opinion).

“You really, _really_ need to get it cut,” she snickered. It was quite obvious that she was holding off rather boisterous laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, but any time I tried to get it cut the way I like in the past, it got absolutely _butchered_ ,” Yugi grumbled. Surprisingly, the only one who had any skill in cutting his hair in a way that was optimal for his particular style was Grandpa (who showed rather surprising skill in wielding a pair of scissors), but, with Yugi this far away from Domino City, Grandpa was simply no longer an option.

“I know a guy,” Rebecca sang.

Yugi sighed, skeptical. “So you’ve said.”

“C’mon, Yugi!” She playfully pushed and pulled on the strap to his backpack. He swayed back and forth with the gentle force. “Just trust me! The guy’s called ‘The Magician.’ Let him work his magic on that wild mop of yours!” She leaned closer, a devious smile crawling onto the deceptively innocent planes of her face. “And he’s cute, with a nice butt to boot.”

“Rebecca!” Yugi hissed, flushing darker.

“Not as nice as yours, though,” she simpered, and her brows waggled.

“Oh my god.” He tugged the edge of the beanie down to cover his blistering face.

Rebecca always made her interest in him more than obvious, and he still didn’t know how to respond to her flirtations, no matter how badly he wanted to. She was intelligent and witty and fierce and never afraid to speak her mind, to hell with the consequences.

And she accepted him for who he was, bisexuality and all, and he couldn’t ask for a more perfect girl.

“Thank you,” he muttered. His eyes were still hidden behind the edges of his beanie, but he leaned gently against her shoulder. “You…” He paused, licked his lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. “You…”

And then the bus was hissing and sputtering to a stop.

“Let’s go!” Her little hand was on his wrist and tugging him to leave.

With a yelp and a frantic adjustment of his beanie, Yugi stumbled after her. The moment was gone, and the words died on his lips.

_You have a nice butt, too._

Totally awkward and maybe a little creepy. Good thing he didn’t get the chance to do it.

“What were you gonna say?” she asked. Her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, until they slipped down and intertwined with his own.

“Um.” He chuckled. A gentle squeeze to her hand, one that she reciprocated with a wide smile. “N-Nothing important, I guess.”

“So, what do you think?” she asked. She was playfully swinging their hands back and forth. Whenever he gave her an inch, she took a mile. And Yugi kind of liked it.

Yugi shook his head and looked away from their clasped hands. “Uh, about what?”

“Well, about trusting me and letting me bring you to my stylist, of course, silly.”

“Oh.” He laughed. Of course, of course. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll think about it.”

She pursed her lips dramatically, like a duck face. He laughed quietly. “I guess I’ll take it, for now. It’s progress, I suppose.”

But she knew when to back down.

“Thanks, Becks,” Yugi murmured.

“No problem. But I’ll probably be back to bothering you about it, tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course, Yugi!”

* * *

“Another beanie day?” Rebecca asked, sighing, leveling Yugi with that reprimanding side-eye.

He frowned and fiddled with the hat. “It’s kinda growing on me…”

“Sure, sure,” she snorted. “You’ve got another horrendous man bun hiding under there again, don’t you?”

He deflated. “Yes.”

She patted his shoulder, then, like a striking viper, suddenly latched onto his hat and tugged viciously on it.

“Hey!” he yelped and clutched the material to his head with an iron grip.

The beanie wasn’t even on his head anymore because of the force with which she was pulling on it, but at least it was covering up his haphazard topknot because of his clenching fingers.

“Holy _cheezits_ , it’s even worse today!” she gasped.

He glared up at her. He finally managed to wrangle his head out of her grasp and readjusted the hat. “You couldn’t even see it,” he grumbled.

“I didn’t need to, sweetcheeks. I could _tell_ ,” she snickered.

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Sure, sure, like you know what I can and can’t tell.”

He laughed and shook his head, and her arms hooked around his elbow. “Yu~gi!” she sang.

“Ugh, fine, yes, whatever,” he groaned.

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say!”

“I _could tell_.”

“How did you know I wasn’t going to ask something _incredibly_ embarrassing?”

“Either way, I suspected it was going to be hell.”

“Too true, too true.”

He snorted.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not going to be that bad. I’ll make the call right now.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Rebecca had to continue to drag him into the salon when they finally arrived. Yugi didn’t dig his heels in, but he was in no rush to cross the threshold, either. With his other hand, he fidgeted with the edge of his beanie, as was a nervous habit that developed over the past several days. Already from the looks of it, the place was chic, high-end.

Yugi dug his heels in harder, the thick soles of his leather boots stuttering over the sidewalk. “Becks…”

She peered over her shoulder. Her sandy blonde hair half-obscured her face. “Yugi?”

“I…” His eyes rolled up to look at the sign sprawling above the windows of the storefront. He tugged at his beanie. “I don’t think I can afford this place.”

The crease in her brow softened. “It’s on me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Becks…”

Her tone hardened, brooking no argument. “I said _don’t worry about it._ ” Another firm tug had him stumbling after her.

“Okay…” He’d still make it up to her later, somehow.

The door opened with a gentle chime. The interior of the salon gleamed with bright lighting and a clean modern interior design. Low conversation, faint music, roaring blow dryers, buzzing clippers, and snipping scissors mixed to create a low din that filled the ears with a strange pleasantness. The air smelled aromatic, cloying, and a tad overwhelming with a concoction of hair products used by the stylists. Semi-circular reception desk squatted in front of a large arrangement of shelves showing off rows and rows of brightly bottled products.

A woman, dark-skinned and bright-eyed, waved exuberantly from her seat behind that gabbro counter. “Hey, Rebecca!”

“Hi, Mana,” Rebecca chirped back, and Yugi stood quietly at her side. She was still holding his hand. “We’ve got an appointment with Mahad at two-thirty.”

“Of course, of course.” And she clacked away on the computer for a moment. “You’ve come to the right place,” she added, smiling brightly and meeting Yugi’s eyes for a moment. “He’s probably wrapping up his previous appointment right now. Feel free to sit and wait for a moment.” From behind the raised edges of the desk, she lifted a large ceramic bowl decorated with dozens of tiny pink stars. “I have some candy if you want some!’

Yugi shook his head with a smile. “My grandpa told me not to take candy from strangers.”

Mana and Rebecca both giggled, and heat rushed to Yugi’s cheeks.

“You’re so cute,” Rebecca cooed, before she shoved one of the wrapped chocolates into his free hand. “Take the damn candy.”

“Geeze, fine.”

Mana laughed again – she had a very bright, delightful laugh – and Rebecca pulled Yugi over to the waiting chairs.

“I really think you’re going to like him,” Rebecca chattered, nearly buzzing with excitement in her seat. Between her soft, small hands, she was playing with one of Yugi’s, running her fingers over his knuckles, along the lines on his sensitive palm, skirting around his short, blunt nails, then darting between his fingers to skim the minute webbing at the vertices.

It was making Yugi’s hand tingle and made blood rush to his cheeks, but it would be a lie if he said that he wasn’t enjoying himself. “I mean, I don’t doubt you” – Yugi liked most people – “but does it really matter if I like him?”

Rebecca gasped, scandalized. “Of _course,_ it matters! Finding a stylist you get along with is half the work! You said your grandpa did your hair for you, right? Well, imagine if you couldn’t hold a conversation with him the whole time he was in your face, cutting your hair, the like? It would be awkward as hell.”

“That’s true.”

A person striding in front of them to check out caught their attention.

Stylish tight red pants, a matching vest over a black shirt, the man seemed to be on the cutting edge of fashion, but most notable was his hair, dark and glossy and falling down around his shoulders in perfectly styled curls. It was a curtain of silky ebony locks, and the only thing Yugi could think about was _I want to touch it._

“That must have been his appointment,” Rebecca whispered. “Look at that _hair_.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m looking at it,” Yugi mumbled back, not even trying to hide his awe.

“Rebecca,” a calm, measured voice greeted.

Yugi turned his head.

A tall man, skin a warm, rich bronze, stood in that gap between the wall and the shelves. A tight white shirt clung to his torso, his legs incased in dark jeans and shoes sensible for standing on one’s feet all day, but the view was mostly blocked by an imperial purple apron. The material had a smooth gleam, like silk, but when he shifted on his feet, it moved like it was made from a thicker substance.

“Mahad!” Rebecca called happily, and she stood abruptly, dragging Yugi out of his seat.

The smallest of smiles twitched at the man’s lips. Yugi’s heart stuttered in his chest. He had long, well-kept hair, and the bits around his face were cut to frame it perfectly.

“Yugi here needs your expert hands. Believe it or not, he’s got quite the mess lurking under this cute beanie of his,” Rebecca announced. When she made to try to peel the hat off again, Yugi thought for a moment about hissing and spitting like a feral cat but ultimately let her tug it off.

Mahad’s dark eyes widened the smallest fraction.

The smile Yugi gave him in return was entirely sheepish.

“Yeah, it’s not so pretty when it grows out, but I have a picture here of it _before_ Yugi went bushman style, and I think it’s right up your alley.”

Mahad nodded then. “I’ll see what I can do.” With a languid gesture of his wrist, he turned on his heel and walked deeper into the salon.

The back of Mahad’s hair was half-up, and Yugi watched that lustrous brown ponytail bob and swayed as Mahad walked. The rest fell down in straight strands well past the nape of Mahad’s neck to trail off between two defined shoulder blades. Even from this angle, Yugi could see that straight posture, tall and proud, and naturally his eyes followed the perfect line of Mahad’s spine to where the apron strings were wrapped around that lean waist to dangle over – Oh wow, Rebecca really wasn’t lying when she said –

“I _told_ you he has a nice ass,” Rebecca hissed into his ear with more than a little giddy excitement.

“Becks!” he whisper-yelled, and anxiously pushed her face away with a gentle palm. “Not so loud.”

“I wasn’t _that_ loud,” she mumbled. Her lower lip curled out into a pout.

Either way, Yugi wasn’t sure if he could ever get his blush to fade away at this rate. If Rebecca found his thoughts that readable, then he really needed to get his wandering eyes under control.

Behind the shelves, the salon was bustling with activity. All the stylists at all the stations were hard at work on their clients. Yugi wondered if it was always this busy.

Mahad stopped at the one empty chair. “Please, take a seat.”

Yugi did so, peeling away from Rebecca’s hand, and she was quick to whip out her phone and show Mahad an older picture of Yugi, back when the last semester first started. They had become fast friends, and it wasn’t long after meeting in a graphic design class that they were regularly hanging out. This picture in particular was when they went out to get ice cream on a very hot early autumn day.

Yugi had chocolate ice cream all over his mouth and chin. It was rather embarrassing, and when Mahad gave another one of those small, subtle smiles at the sight, Yugi buried his face in his hands and genuinely contemplated just finding a hole to go die in.

“This is what the front looked like…” She swiped her thumb through the album to find another picture, hopefully a less mortifying one. “This is the back. Think you can do that?”

A solemn nod. “Of course.” He turned away from her, and toward Yugi. He plucked a long piece of fabric from the hook on the wall. It was a smock, and its color was a perfect match to the apron Mahad donned. With a skilled flourish, he draped it over Yugi. Despite the glossy appearance, it was rough to the touch.

Yugi gasped, hands gripping at the arms of the chair, as it suddenly began to rise, jerkily.

Mahad chuckled, low and quiet. One of his feet was pumping at a lever on the chair’s lower half. Of course, of course.

Yugi might as well just accept bright tomato red as his skin color at this point. Embarrassment? What embarrassment? This was just Yugi’s reality now.

Long fingers gently plucked the hair tie from Yugi’s bedraggled manbun. “Would you like your hair shampooed and conditioned?”

Yugi glanced to Rebecca. She was in one of the waiting chairs positioned perhaps a meter in front of him. She nodded vigorously with both of her thumbs up. “Magic hands” she mouthed, nodding toward Mahad.

What? Yugi wasn’t sure what that meant, but he stuttered a “S-Sure” out anyways.

Mahad hummed in reply. Some clanking and thudding echoed behind Yugi. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Mahad was already back at his side. “I’m going to recline the chair now, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

A strong, calloused hand cradled the back of his neck, and Yugi couldn’t help but stare at the man hovering over him as he was guided down, until his neck was resting on a divot of a hair-washing station. The counter was on hinges that allowed it to swing open vertically. But Yugi was hardly paying attention.

Mahad’s hair fell a little from around his face, revealing a smooth forehead and high cheekbones and defined temples.

_H-Handsome._

Hissing and warm, water rushed through a nozzle. Mahad wetted Yugi’s hair, down to the scalp. “Is the temperature good?”

The focused rush of warm water across Yugi’s sensitive nerves had him melting in the seat, his eyes closed. “Ummm…” His eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he struggled against catatonic state to produce words with his thickened tongue. “Y-yeah. Perfect.”

It was so foreign to have someone else’s hands in his hair, smoothing through it, making sure it was properly saturated with water, but it was undeniably nice. He hardly noticed one hand leaving, didn’t notice at all the sound of a bottle cap snapping open, but he definitely noticed when Mahad held it a handful of centimeters from his face. “Is the scent of this shampoo suitable to your tastes?”

The aroma of coconuts and mangos and sunshine on the beach washed his senses, and Yugi smiled sleepily. “Yeah, that smells good.”

A humming chuckle, and then those skilled, long fingered hands were kneading the shampoo into his hair, into his scalp, and he tightened his fingers on the arm rests for fear of melting into a puddle on the ground.

_Magic hands._

He understood now.

 _Goddamn_ , he’d really been missing out all his life having Grandpa cut his hair.

“Head up a little,” that low voice murmured, and Yugi did so with an uncomfortable twinge to his brow, but it was worth it when Mahad’s hand quickly but thoroughly lathered the hair just above the nape of Yugi’s neck.

Yugi tried his best not to _purr_. No wonder cats and dogs liked getting petted so much.

The rinse, the conditioner, and the rinse after that all happened in a honey-sweet, warm water haze, and Yugi was more than a little disappointed when Mahad guided him into sitting back up. Mahad smoothed the knots out of Yugi’s hair with a wide-toothed comb and settled a small towel on his shoulders to keep his dripping locks from soaking him.

“You look like a wet kitten,” Rebecca giggled, looking up from the magazine she had plucked off the side table.

Yugi wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at her. “Rude.”

“How short do you want me to cut your hair?” Mahad asked. His fingers were carding through the wet strands, sectioning them off with clips, and the occasional gentle scrap of fingertips on Yugi’s scalp made him shiver.

“Just shorter than in the picture,” Yugi answered, narrowing his eyes at Rebecca when she waggled her brows at him.

And Mahad went to work, the _snip snip snip_ of the scissors fluttering in Yugi’s ears, and the little chunks of hair pitter pattered onto the shoulders of the smock, fell down the slanted front of it, and some tumbled right to the floor.

“Do you go to the same college as Rebecca?” Quiet and measured, so much so that Yugi nearly missed it.

“Yeah. We met in a graphic design class last semester.” Yugi tried not to jostle too much as he talked. “She decided to be bothersome on the first day, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Never a dull day with that one, I imagine,” Mahad chuckled, sliding hair between his fore- and middle finger, comparing lengths of the strands. Compared to Grandpa’s technique, Mahad was quick and efficient, but at the same time meticulous, always taking the time to double-check his work.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Yugi stage-whispered back.

“I think I can infer from my interactions with her,” Mahad replied with that small, private smile.

Throughout the Yugi’s time in his chair, Mahad displayed remarkable skill at starting and continuing conversations despite hardly talking himself. He would drop a question or a sentence or two, and it would lure more and more words from Yugi’s lips. Rebecca joined the conversation, and there was a solid minute or two of bickering between the two friends while Mahad listened with that small smile. It felt natural, one of the most natural interactions Yugi had with a new person in a long time. And that was saying something, as Yugi was naturally a very friendly and open person.

It seemed like it was over far too soon, though he had spent the better part of an hour and a half in Mahad’s chair.

“Oh my gosh! It looks great!” Yugi gushed, admiring his new haircut in the mirror. The admission hurt a little, but it was definitely a higher quality than Grandpa could ever manage.

“I’m happy that you like it,” Mahad murmured, standing beside Yugi, ruffling his fingers through the freshly shorn strands as if once again checking over his work.

Yugi’s cheeks heated at the touches.

“I told you,” Rebecca squealed, glomping him from behind. “You were afraid for no reason!”

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” Mahad said after Rebecca slipped him a tip wrapped in a napkin.

“You, too!” Yugi called, waving as they started to walk out. “Thanks again.” He quickly turned to Rebecca. “What was the napkin about?”

She ignored him in favor of Mana, to whom she paid the rest of the bill for Yugi’s haircut.

“Rebecca,” he prodded, both figuratively and literally as they walked out the door.

“Our numbers,” Rebecca said with a beaming grin. “Do you think Mahad would like to be in a throuple with us?”

“Becks!” he groaned, pressing his palms to his face.

“Just kidding,” she sang. “Except not. I think he’d be into it.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“I can. I’m awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one who requested this asked for hairstylist!Mahad, and my older sister is a professional hairstylist. When she was still going to cosmetology classes, I was oft a guinea pig ‘neath her unlearnt blades XD She still cuts my hair, actually, but not recently, since I’ve started growing it out. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed, and don’t forget to request a character if you want to!
> 
> Next ship: Mistshipping (Otogi Ryuuji|Duke Devlin x Kajiki Ryouta|Mako Tsunami) Pt 2

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently looking for a beta reader for all of my YGO-related work. If you are interested, feel free to contact me via FF.N, [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/draconicmaw), or by my fanfic email: mightnight.munchies19@gmail.com! If you're not interested, feel free to contact me to just give me a holler (or to, you know, make a request if you have one).


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